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Photographic 

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1:25  114   |iL6 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STRKT 

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re 


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nt 

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32X 


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1 

2 

3 

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la  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

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dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  Ie 
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symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

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filmte  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff Arents. 
Lorsque  Ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cllchA,  il  est  filmA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  da  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  ie  nombre 
d'Images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
lllustrent  la  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MMM 


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HELEN  AND  WASHINGTON. 


[Sec  Pagt:  ^77.] 


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II 


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roN.  • 


ISrc  Page  a?;.] 


r^'^^lZ 


PEMBERTON; 


OR, 


ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


By  henry  PETERSON, 

Author  of  "  The  Modern  Job,"  &c. 


h< 


"  lliere  comes  a  voice  that  awake*  my  soul.    It  is  the  voice  of  jreuf  that  are 
gone,  they  roll  before  me  with  their  deeds."  OssiAM. 


PHILADELPHIA. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  CO. 
1873- 


% 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  187s, 

By  henry  PETERSON, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librariau  of  Congress,  at  Washington, 


'     V 


the  year  1875, 
U  Washington, 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 


m 


FAGB. 


CHAPTBB. 

I.  The  Surprise     .        .        • 

7 

II.  Moll  of  the  Hatchet 

14 

III.  The  Battle  in  the  Mist     . 

as 

IV.  Captain  Andr6  . 

3» 

V.  A  Woman's  Will       . 

41 

VI.  The  Wissahickon 

.    46 

VII.  The  Deserters  . 

74 

VIII.  Phil.  Morris      . 

.       82 

IX.  The  Dream  of  Andr6 

.      86 

X.  The  Fortune-Teller  . 

.      98 

XI.  The  Quaker  Preacher 

.     114 

XII.  Pro  and  Con    . 

V      130 

XIII.  Plots  and  Counterplots 

.    141 

XIV.  Parting     . 

.  155 

IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER. 

XV.  A  Daring  Raid 
XVI.  Hail  to  the  Chief     . 
XVII.  The  Mischianza 
XVIII.  An  Uninvited  Guest 


PAGB. 
I  60 

166 
176 


PART  II. 

I.  Arnold  the  Hero       .        .         .        . 

•     19s 

II.  A  Charm 

.     208 

III.  The  Mob 

.     211 

IV.  The  Spy  .        .        . 

.     217 

V.  Helen  and  Arnold    . 

.     228 

VI.  Captain  Fanny  Again 

.     236 

VII.  Arnold  the  Traitor  .        .        . 

•     845 

VIII.  A  New  Scheme 

.     251 

IX.  Shall  I  do  It   . 

•     .     256 

X.  The  Ball          .... 

.     264 

XI.  Running  the  Gauntlet 

.     281 

XII.  Planning  Treason    . 

.     289 

;                                          PART  III. 

I.  A  Change  of  Scene 

•     «9S 

j{              II.  The  Midnight  Conference 

.     304 

III.  The  Price  of  Treason 

■        •     315 

jl            IV.  A  Perilous  Journey  . 

•    319 

1 60 
166 
171 
176 


•  19s 
.  208 
.  211 
.  217 
.  228 

•  236 
.  845 
.  251 
.  256 
.  364 
.  281 
.  289 


295 
304 
315 
319 


CONTENTS. 

lAPTKR. 

V.  For  the  Third  Time 
VI,  On  the  Way     . 
VII.  The  Arrest  of  Andri 
VIII.  Breaking  the  News  .        . 
IX.  Pemberton  and  Washington 
X.  Crushed  by  the  Blow 
XI.  Pemberton  and  Andr6     . 
XII.   Captain  Fanny's  Plan     . 
XIII.  The  Death  of  Andr6 

PART  IV. 

Five  Years  After 
Conclusion      .        .        • 


V 

rAGR. 
324 
327 

344 
350 

357 
362 

372 
376 


381 
389 


■      ■"  '-""'-"" 

• 

• 

* 

j 
1 

1 

1 

i 
i 

1 
• 

i 

■ 

i 
1 

• 

A 


.1 


PEMBERTON. 

PART  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     SURPRISE. 

Oh,  peaceful  carth-oh,  patient,  green-browed  tuOir- 
Sad  mother  of  the  whirlwind  and  the  itorm. 

It  is  a  morning  in  October,  in  the  year  1777.     Early 
morning— for  the  sun  has  not  yet  risen,  though  the  heralds 
of  his  imperial  coming  are  seen  flushing  with  their  crimson 
and  purple  banners  the  eastern  sky.    The  earth,  too,  seems 
to  respond  with  a  regal  pomp  of  banners.     Crimson,  melt- 
ing  at  one  place  into  a  rich  brown,  flashing  in  another  into 
a  living  flame,  and  harmoniously  blending  everywhere 
with  the  deep  green  of  the  cedar  and  the  hemlock,  is  all 
around  us.    The  glory  of  the  earth  rivals  that  of  the  sunlit 
sky.    For,  as  we  have  said,  it  is  October ;  and  we  are  in 
Pennsylvania,  the  wooded  land  of  Penn. 

Two  young  ladies,  arrayed  in  riding  costume,  are  stand- 
ing before  an  open  window,  in  an  upper  chamber  of  a  large 
stone  mansion.  Their  room  being  open  only  to  the  north 
and  the  west,  they  have  caught  but  faint  glimpses  of  the 
elory  of  the  sunrise-^but  the  glory  of.  the  earth-rise  from 
darkness  into  light,  is  spread  widely  before  them.    The 

7 


■i'.fi 


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i 


8 


PEMBERTON ; 


coolness  of  the  morning  air,  which,  though  a  little  raw  to 
those  of  maturer  years,  comes  pleasantly  upon  their  faces, 
glowing  with  the  rich,  warm  blood  of  youth,  also  is  like 
wine  unto  their  buoyant  spirits.  Let  us  listen  to  what  they 
are  saying. 

"  Do  you  know  what  first  came  into  my  mind,  Bel,  when 
that  fierce  '  rap,  rap,  rap,'  sounded  on  our  doog  this  morn- 
ing?" said  the  younger  of  the  two,  a  maiden  apparently 
of  some  twenty  summers. 

"  Yes — that  the  enemy  were  upon  us.  That  made  you 
spring  out  of  bed  in  such  alright,"  said  the  elder  sister, 
mischievously. 

"  Fright !  and  I  the  daughter  of  a  Scottish  colonel ! 
You  are  joking,  Bella.  No,  I  thought  we  were  again 
schoolgirl:,  among  the  nuns  of  Bethlehem.  • 

" '  Sing  a  song  of  lixpence. 
Pocket  full  of  tow. 
Sixty  single  bedstead* 
All  in  a  row.' 

"  Oh,  but  we  had  high  old  times  in  Bethlehem,  Bel.  I 
wish  sometimes  we  were  back  again,  among  the  simple- 
minded  sisters." 

"  Well  I  cannot  say,  Helen,  that  I  do." 

"  Of  course  not — Pemberton ! " 

"Andr6." 

"  Nonsense,  Bel — I  have  not  seen  Captain  Andrg  more 
than  a  dozen  or  twenty  times  in  my  life.  But  l<l|rus  take  one 
look  more,  and  then  go  down.     Uncle  must  Be  waiting." 

"This  is  a  beautiful  place  to  live  in,  Helen — is  it  not? 
See  how  finely  the  walks  are  laid  out,  with  their  marble 
vases  and  statues.  And  what  a  glorious  view  one  has  to 
the  west,  over  the  valley  of  the  Wissahickoh  1  Where  are 
the  Chews  now  ?  " 

"I  think  the  judge  has  been  sent  to  Virginia — ^you 


roN ; 

hich,  though  a  little  raw  to 

pleasantly  upon  their  faces, 

lood  of  youth,  also  is  like 

Let  us  listen  to  what  they 

ne  into  my  mind,  Bel,  when 
ded  on  our  doog  this  morn- 
;  two,  a  maiden  apparently 

upon  us.  That  made  you 
ght,"  said  the  elder  sister, 

ter  of  a  Scottish  colonel ! 
I  thought  we  were  again 
Bethlehem. 

xpence, 

tow, 

itead* 

nes  in  Bethlehem,  Bel.  I 
again,  among  the  simple- 

that  I  do." 
1" 

seen  Captain  AndrS  more 

my  life.   But  l<slus  take  one 

Uncle  must  Be  waiting." 

live  in,  Helen — is  it  not  ? 
aid  out,  with  their  marble 
a  glorious  view  one  has  to 
:  Wissahickoh  1    Where  are 


»n  sent  to  Virginia- 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  9 

know  he  is  no  more  sound  in  the  faith  than  old  '  Cousin ' 
Pemberton;  he  cannot  quite  swallow  the  Independence 
declaration.  He  would  not  even  give  his  parole  to  the 
rebels.  I  suppose  the  ladies  are  with  him.  They  are 
brilliant  girls." 

"  Had  we  not  better  go  down  now?  " 

"  Stay— one  moment.  Do  you  see  that  gray  mist— how 
curiously  it' weeps  down  upon  us  from  the  north.  One 
might  alirfb^take  it  for  the  sweeping  onward  of  a  hostile 
army.  I  am  afraid  we  shall  haye  a  dull  morning  after  all, 
for  our  ride  to  town.  See,  lj#  rapidly  it  comes— before 
it  ^  light  and  sunshine  pfSBpind  it  all  darkness   and 

glootf." 

<*'park !  did  you  hear  that?  "  cried  Isabella,  excitedly. 

A,  dull"  report  was  heard,  as  if  of  a  pirtol,  or  distant 
musket.  1 

"  It  is  an  attack  1 "  cried  Helen,  when  ^kk  was  followed 
by  a  loud  report,^  of  a  field-piece,  ai^rf  then  by  the  dis- 
tant roll  of  a  drum,  beating  to  arms,  f 

"  Girls !  "  called  a  deep  voice  at  the  door  of  the  room ; 
and  then  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and,  seeing  them  at- 
tired, an  elderly  man,  in  the  uniform  of  a  British  colonel 
entered,  and  joined  them  at  the  window. 

"What  is  it,  uncle?"  exclaimed  both,  almost  in  a 

breath. 

"  It  is  an  attack— it  may  be  in  force.  It  is  a  bad  busi- 
ness, girls,  having  you  here." 

«'  Do  not  be  alarmed  for  us,  uncle.  We  will  give  you 
no  trouble,"  said  Isabella,  proudly. 

"  If  it  is  in  force,  we  must  march  at  once,"  said  Colonel 
Musgrave,  a.«i  if  communing  with  himself.  ' '  And  it  sounds 
so"— as  volley  after  volley  of  musketry  broke  upon  his 
ears.  "But  there  comes  one  of  Simcoe's  dragoons,"  he 
exclaimed,  as  a  horseman  rode  up  in  hot  haste,  sword  flash- 


xo 


PEMBERTON : 


i 

ir ; 


% 

% 


ing,  and  helmet  glittering.     "  Come  down,  girls,  we  shall 
learn  something  definite  now." 

They  hurried  through  the  almost  uniurnished  house, 
and  down  to  the  front  door-steps  where  the  dragoon  had 
reined  up. 

"  Colonel — the  rebels  are  on  us.  It  was  almost  a  sur- 
prise. They  have  our  camp.  But  we  are  holding  them 
back." 

"  How  many?  in  force?" 
"  The  whole  of  Washington's  army,  I  was  bid  to  tell 
you." 

"Wait  one  moment,  girls,"  cried  the  colonel,  ^  he 
sprang  around  the  house,  in  the  rear  of  which  his  regiment 
was  encamped.  Soon  the  roll  of  the  drum  was  heard,  and 
the  silence  of  an  orderly  encampment  gave  place  to  loud 
commands  and  the  bustle  of  military  preparation. 

"  I  must  lead  the  regiment  at  once  to  the  support  of  the 
light  infantry,"  said  Colonel  Musgrave,  as  he  again  joined 
his  wards.  "  Can  you  risk  riding  to  town  alone — or  how 
would  it  do  to  ride  to  headquarters !  That  is  only  about 
a  couple  of  miles  off." 

"  If  it  were  not  for  this  mist,  which  has  closed  upon  us 
so  quickly,  we  could  easily  do  either,"  replied  Isabella. 

"Why  cannot  we  remain  here?"  said  Helen.  "We 
shall  be  near  you,  uncle — ^and  there  may  be  wounded  men 
to  care  for.     We  are  not  cowards." 

"  No ;  I  know  you  are  not.  But  I  should  feel  far  easier 
in  my  mind  if  I  knew  you  were  in  safety,  and  not  exposed 
to  those  perils  which  always  hang  around  contending 
armies.  As  to  this  house,  if  the  enemy  is  in  force,  it  will 
not  long  be  a  place  of  safety.  I  have  sent  word  to  Howe 
— ^but  the  advance  of  the  rebels  must  be.delayed  as  long  as 
possible,  in  order  to  give  time  for  him  to  get  in  position ; 
and  this  mansion  will  make  a  capital  fort,  if  need  be." 


le  down,  girls,  we  shall 

3st  unlurnished  house, 
vhere  the  dragoon  had 

3.     It  was  almost  a  sur- 
it  we  are  holding  them 

army,  I  was  bid  to  tell 

ried  the  colonel,  ^  he 
ar  of  which  his  regiment 
he  drum  was  heard,  and 
lent  gave  place  to  loud 
iry  preparation, 
ice  to  the  support  of  the 
jrave,  as  he  again  joined 
to  town  alone — or  how 
rs !     That  is  only  about 

rhich  has  closed  upon  us 
her,"  replied  Isabella. 
;?"  said  Helen.     "We 
re  may  be  wounded  men 

It  I  should  feel  far  easier 
I  safety,  and  not  exposed 
ang  around  contending 
enemy  is  in  force,  it  will 
have  sent  word  to  Howe 
ust  be.delayed  as  long  as 
r  him  to  get  in  position ; 
italfort,  if  need  be." 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  U 

Colonel  Musgrave  spoke  rapidly  and  excitedly— as  if 
anxious  to  be  at  his  post. 

"Well,  uncle,  do  not  fear  for  us;  we  will  mount  and 
ride,  either  to  town  or  to  headquarters,  as  may  seem  best," 

said  Isabella. 

"Who  shall  I  send  with  you?" 

"  Nobody— we  can  protect  ourselves  for  that  distance." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.     A  British  uniform  would  be 

as  apt  to  draw  as  to  ward  off  a  rebel  bullet.     And,  rebels 

though  the  colonists  be,  they  are  not  given  to  shooting  at 

women.     But  come  in  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee  to  brace 

yourselves  up  with." 

A  cup  of  coffee  and  some  slices  of  bread  were  hastily 
swallowed,  and  then  the  young  ladies  mounted  their  horses 
—the  colonel  at  the  same  time  springing  on  his  horse. 

"  Girls,  you  know  the  way?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Isabella— "  even  in  this  mist." 

"  You  had  better,  it  seems  to  me,  not  try  to  go  down 
the  Main  road.  It  may  by  this  time  be  sprinkled  with 
the  rebel  troopers.  I  should  advise  you  to  strike  over  to 
the  east,  to  the  Limekiln  road,  and  make  your  way  down 
it.  You  know  that,  about  a  mile  down,  you  can  either 
strike  into  Germantown  again,  at  the  market  place,  or,  if 
you  hear  firing  in  that  direction,  turn  to  the  east  once 
more,  and  follow  the  New  York  road  to  the  city.  If  any- 
thing looks  dangerous,  take  refuge  in  some  private  house- 
nobody  will  refuse  protection  to  two  lorn  damsels  in  dis- 
tress.    But  let  me  know  at  once,  after  the  battle,  where 

you  are." 

Colonel  Musgrave  had  spoken  rapidly— for  his  men  had 
already  left  their  encampment,  with  the  exception  of  one 
company,  which  seemed  to  await  further  orders,  and  the 
roar  of  battle  swelled  louder  and  louder  in  his  ears.     Now 


Mf 


ilii 


J 2  PEMBERTON  } 

he  passed  his  hand  rapidly  over  his  eyes,  anl  said  in  a 

slower,  softer  tone :  .      , ,  ,  . 

"And,  girls,  remember,  if  anythmg  should  happen  to 
your  old  uncle,  that  he  loved  you  very  dearly,  and,  next  to 
his  king  and  country,  would  have  died  for  you." 

Touching  her  horse  with  the  whip,  Helen  was  m  a  mo- 
ment by  the  colonel's  side— bending  from  her  saddle  to 
throw  an  arm  around  his  neck,  and  to  kiss  his  lips. 
"  Uncle,  let  me  stay  with  you— to  live  or  die  with  you  I 

exclaimed  she.  v_»j 

"  Yes  uncle— <io  not  drive  us  away  from  you,  chimed 
in  Isabella.  ' '  Dearest  and  best  of  friends— heaven  knows 
how  good  and  kind  you  have  always  been  to  us. ' '     ^  ^ 

"  You  quite  make  a  child  of  me,  my  dear  girls,  said 
the  colonel,  wiping  his  eyes  once  more.  "  And  how  fool- 
ish it  all  is !  This  is  not  my  first,  nor  my  fifth  battle,  as 
vou  well  know.  I  came  out  of  the  others  safely,  and  I 
mean  to  come  safely  out  of  this.  But,  if  you  do  not  go 
and  at  once,  I  shall  fight  this  battle  with  a  aeavy  and 
troubled  heart.  Hear  how  the  roar  of  the  battle  deepens ! 
It  is  coming  nearer.  If  you  go  at  once,  I  do  not  think 
there  is  any  great  amount  of  danger-but,  if  you  stay,  I 
know  not  what  to  do  with  you." 

"We  will  go  at  once  then,"  said  Isabella,  turning  her 
horse's  head  to  the  south.  "And  may  heaven  preserve 
you— best  of  benefactors  and  friends !" 

"  Stay,"  said  the  colonel-taking  a  pistol  from  its  hol- 
ster, and  half  smiling,  notwithstanding  the  ^riousness  of 
the  occasion.     "  Will  either  of  you  have  this  ? 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Isabella,  smiling  m  tur«. 
"I  will  trust  to  the  usual  womanly  weapons,  and  to  the 

chivalry  of  men.  .       i  ■    i 

-Give  it  to  me,  then,"  cried  Helen,  impulsively. 
"  Would  I  were  a  man  to  go  with  you,  uncle,  and  not  be 


^... 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


his  eyes,  an  i  said  in  a 

thing  should  happen  to 
very  dearly,  and,  next  to 
died  for  you." 
rhip,  Helen  was  in  a  mo- 
ding  from  her  saddle  to 
:,  and  to  kiss  his  lips. 

0  live  or  die  with  you  I" 

away  from  you,"  chimed 
of  friends— heaven  knows 
ays  been  to  us." 
me,  my  dear  girls,"  said 

1  more.  "  And  how  fool- 
it,  nor  my  fifth  battle,  as 
:  the  others  safely,  and  I 

But,  if  youdo  not  go, 
battle  with  a  aeavy  and 
oar  of  the  battle  deepens ! 
0  at  once,  I  do  not  think 
mger— but,  if  you  stay,  I 

said  Isabella,  turning  her 
A.nd  may  heaven  preserve 
lends!" 

king  a  pistol  from  its  hol- 
itanding  the  seriousness  of 
you  have  this?" 
Isabella,  smiling  in  turn, 
lanly  weapons,  and  to  the 

cried  Helen,  impulsively, 
ith  you,  uncle,  and  not  be 


13 

Is  it  ready 


shipped  off  as  an  incumbrance  in  this  fashion. 

for  use?" 

"Be  careful  with  it,  Helen— my  servant  always  sees  to 
it  every  morning.  It  will  not  fail  you,  if  required,"  re- 
plied the  Colonel.  • '  But  I  can  stay  no  longer.  May  the 
all-seeing  God  guide  and  keep  youl"  Putting  spurs  to 
his  horse,  Colonel  Musgrave  rode  rapidly  to  the  rear  of 
the  house-gave  orders  to  the  captain  of  the  company  he 
had  held  in  reserve,  to  occupy  the  mansion,  to  barricade 
the  doors  and  lower  windows,  and  arrange  everything  for 
a  vigorous  defence  if  such  should  be  necessary-and  then 
dashed  off  after  his  regiment. 

By  this  time  the  mist  had  so  closed  around,  as  to  render 
it  impossible  to  see  more  than  twenty  or  thirty  yards  dis- 
tance, and  that  imperfectly.  Judging  from  the  noise  of 
the  conflict  however— the  continual  rattle  of  musketry,  the 
cries  and  shouts,  and  the  occasional  roar  of  field-pieces— 
the  battle  was  rapidly  rolling  down  toward  the  mansion. 
This  proved  that  the  British  were  still  giving  ground.  Oc- 
casional musket  shots  were  also  beginning  to  be  heard  on 
the  Main  road  or  street  of  the  village,  upon  which,  at  a 
distance  of  several  hundred  feet,  the  building  fronted. 
And  it  was  evident  to  the  young  ladies  that  the  sooner 
they  started,  the  greater  was  their  chance  of  effecting  their 
ride  in  safety. 


F£MBEKTON I 


CHAPTER  II. 

MOLL   OF   THE   HATCHET. 


Morton.    This  is  a  cruel  hag  I 

PiBTRO. 

You  well  may  say  so. 


Indeed,  my  lord, 


Well  acquainted  with  the  roads,  and  with  the  lanes — 
as  all  the  shorter  and  narrower  roads  were  appropriately 
called  in  that  section  of  the  country— the  young  ladies 
rode  as  rapidly  as  the  misty  obscurity  would  permit,  in  a 
southern  direction  through  a  farm  path,  to  a  lane  which  is 
now  called  by  the  name  of  Washington,  but  which  then 
doubtless  had  some  local  designation.  Helen  had  con- 
cealed the  pistol  her  uncle  had  given  her,  in  one  of  the 
large  pockets  worn  at  that  day,  and  notwithstanding  the 
possible  difficulties  of  their  situation,  the  spirits  of  the  sis- 
ters seemed  to  rise  as  their  high  mettled  steeds  chafed 
under  the  curb  which  it  was  necessary  to  hold  upon  them. 

" Pshaw  1  would  I  were  a  man!"  said  Helen.  "I 
should  like  to  fire  one  good  shot  at  least  for  my  king— and 
stand  by  Uncle  Musgrave  in  the  thiclt  Qf  the  battle.  We 
are  but  an  insignificant  tribe,  we  women,  Bella." 

"  Well,  for  one  woman,  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  my 
natural  position,"  replied  Isabella.  "Why  did  you  take 
that  pistol  ?  I  declare  I  am  afraid  you  will  shoot  me  with 
it  yet.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  it  on  the  other  side  of 
you.  Take  care  you  do  not  pull  the  trigger  without  mean- 
ing to." 

"  Never  fear,  sister  mine.  I  have  shot  off  a  pistol  before 
this.  Captain  Andr6  gave  me  a  whole  hour's  practice, 
down  at  Gray's  Ferry,  one  afternoon.  But  here  is  the 
road,  is  it  not?  Yes,  there  is  the  gate,  lying  in  the 
road.     What  would  the  Chews  say  if  they  were  here,  and 


..4 


I. 

CHET. 


Iced,  my  lord, 

,  and  with  the  lanes — 
ads  were  appropriately 
itry — the  young  ladies 
rity  would  permit,  in  a 
lath,  to  a  lane  which  is 
ngton,  but  which  then 
ion.  Helen  had  con- 
ven  her,  in  one  of  the 
d  notwithstanding  the 
n,  the  spirits  of  the  sis- 
mettled  steeds  chafed 
ary  to  hold  upon  them, 
n!"  said  Helen.  "I 
least  for  my  king — ^and 
licit  q(  the  battle.  We 
omen,  Bella." 
quite  satisfied  with  my 
•'  Why  did  you  take 
you  will  shoot  me  with 
it  on  the  other  side  of 
le  trigger  without  mean- 

e  shot  off  a  pistol  before 
whole  hour's  practice, 
loon.  But  here  is  the 
the  gate,  lying  in  the 
if  they  were  here,  and 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  1 5 

could  see  their  beautiful  country-place  now— gates  and 
fences  down  in  all  directions." 

' '  They  are  just  as  well  off  as  their  neighbors.  I  scarcely 
think  there  is  a  single  farm  fence  standing  in  Germantown. 
What  with  the  Hessian  huts,  and  all  the  soldiers'  fuel,  the 
farms  and  country-seats  seem  to  be  pretty  well  stripped. 
But,  as  you  say,  we  turn  toward  the  east  here." 

"  If  it  were  not  for  this  mist  we  could  canter  to  head- 
quarters in  half  an  hour,"  said  Helen. 

"Yes,  in  less  time— but  do  take  care,  Helen;  the  ground 
is  boggy  near  that  stream,"  said  Isabella,  as  they  were 
crossing  one  of  the  little  so-called  creeks  with  which  that 
part  of  the  country  is  favored— streams  which  are  seldom 
dry,  even  in  the  greatest  heats  of  summer. 

Slowly  the  young  ladies  rode  on,  the  noise  of  the  battle 
growing  fainter  as  they  rode.  But  they  had  not  gone 
much  more  than  a  mile,  before  the  quick  ear  of  Helen 
caught  a  noise  in  front  of  them.     "  What  is  that,  Bel  ?  Do 

you  hear  it?" 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  said  her  sister.  They  had  just  ridden 
through  a  piece  of  woods,  and  they  now  gazed  and  listened 
intently.  "  It  is  the  tramp  and  clatter  of  a  regiment," 
said  Helen.  "They  are  going  down  the  Limekiln  road. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  they  are  the  Americans— marching  to  attack 
the  British  right  wing,"  replied  Isabella,  in  a  low  voice, 
her  face  whitening  a  little.  ^^ 

"We  do  not  want  to  travel  in  that  company,     said 

Helen,  defiantly. 

"  No.  We  must  turn  back.  And  quickly,  too.  I  vow 
some  of  them  are  coming  this  way.  Perhaps  they  mean  to 
attack  the  Fortieth." 

Wheeling  their  horses  the  young  ladies  rode  back  upon 
their  track,  and  more  rapidly  too  than  they  had  come. 


i6 


PEMBERTON } 


"  What  shall  fe  do,  sis?  "  said  Helen, 

"  Wait  a  moment — let  us  see  first  how  things  stand." 

They  could  not  see,  but  they  could  soon  hc.ir  how  things 
stood.  The  large  stone  house  they  had  left,  then  sleeping 
peacefully  in  its  gray  curtains  of  mist,  was  now  a  fortress, 
belching  forth  shot  and  smoke.  Colonel  Musgrave  was 
evidently  doing  his  devoir  bravely,  as  a  soldier  true  to  his 
king.  And  other  men,  equally  brave  and  true,  and  wiser 
in  their  day  and  generation,  evidently  were  doing  their 
devoir  also  with  ball  and  bullet. 

Despite  the  peril,  Helen's  cheeks  flushed.  "The  For- 
tieth is  holding  back  the  whole  of  Washington's  army," 
cried  she,  exultingly.  "  Give  me  the  Scottish  blood  after 
all,  in  the  hour — " 

Her  sentence  was  suddenly  cut  short  by  a  cannon-ball, 
which  struck  the  trunk  of  a  large  chestnut-tree  not  twenty 
feet  from  them,  and  rolled  on  the  ground  at  the  feet  of 
their  horses.  The  spirited  animals,  already  excited  by  the 
deepening  roar  of  the  battle,  sprung  and  reared,  until  it 
required  all  the  skill  of  the  fair  riders — practised  horse- 
women though  they  were — to  reduce  them  to  subjection. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  Bel  ?  This  is  getting  a  little  too 
exciting  here.  We  cannot  go  back  to  the  house — the 
Main  road  is  evidently  full  of  rebels — and  behind  us  are 
more  of  the  same  sort.     Speak  quick." 

"  The  fences  are  all  down — let  us  take  to  the  fields,  and 
push  through  them  to  the  British  lines.  Of  course  there 
is  some  risk — ^but  there  is  more  in  staying  here,"  replied 
Isabella. 

The  good  sense  of  the  suggestion  was  so  evident,  that  at 
the  word  "  fields,"  Helen  had  turned  her  horse's  head  to 
the  south,  and  rode  into  the  open  fields—commons  as  they 
now  seemed,  in  their  desolation.  They  could  still  see  only 
a  very  little  distance  around  them — not  more  than  suf- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


»7 


en. 

)w  things  stand." 
oon  heir  how  things 
,d  left,  then  sleeping 
was  now  a  fortress, 
lonel  Musgrave  was 
a  soldier  true  to  his 
and  true,  and  wiser 
ly  were  doing  their 

lushed.     "TheFor- 

i^ashington's  army," 

Scottish  blood  after 

rt  by  a  cannon-ball, 
itnut-tree  not  twenty 
round  at  the  feet  of 
iready  excited  by  the 

and  reared,  until  it 
;rs — practised  horse- 
:hem  to  subjection. 

getting  a  little  too 
:  to  the  house — the 

—and  behind  us  are 

I) 

ike  to  the  fields,  and 
es.  Of  course  there 
lying  here,"  replied 

as  so  evident,  that  at 
1  her  horse's  head  to 
Is— -commons  as  they 
;y  could  still  see  only 
-not  more  than  suf< 


ficient  to  enable  them  to  keep  the  general  direction  in 
which  they  wished  to  go — while  on  the  Main  road,  which 
ran  parallel  with  their  course,  they  could  hear  scattering 
shots  which  told  that  the  advance  of  the  Americans  had 
passed  Chew's  house,  and  was  pressing  down  upon  the 
British  centre. 

It  was  rather  a  trying  position  for  young  ladies  who  had 
been  carefully  and  even  elegantly  nurtured ;  but,  as  the  old 
proverb  has  it,  "blood  will  tell,"  and  these  were  Gra- 
hams— daughters  of  a  race  that  had  proved  its  courage  and 
endurance  on  many  a  hard-foughv  field ;  and  what  is  more, 
in  the  cottage  of  the  exile,  and  oii  the  scaffold  of  the  pro- 
scribed and  the  outlawed. 

It  would  have  seemed  less  trying  even  could  they  have 
put  their  horses  into  a  wild  gallop — ^but  now  that  they  had 
left  the  road,  the  danger  of  stumbling  in  the  mist  over 
empty  post-holes,  and  partially  removed  fences,  necessi- 
tated the  greatest  watchfulness.  And,  therefore,  although 
they  could  hear  the  rattle  of  buckshot  occasionally  in  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  under  which  they  passed,  they  had  to 
make  progress  slowly. 

"  Don't  ride  over  that  wounded  horse  !  "  at  length  sud- 
denly exclaimed  Helen  to  her  sister. 

Isabella  pulled  up  hastily — for  directly  before  her  the 
animal  was  lying— evidently  the  horse  of  a  soldier  from  the 
military  equipments. 

"I  wonder  where  the  rider  is?"  said  she,  in  a  sympa- 
thizing tone. 

"There — ^look  there — ^what  does  that  mean?"  cried 
Helen. 

A  wounded  officer,  dressed  in  the  Continental  blue  and 

.  buff,  was  lying  on  the  ground,  apparently  interposing  as 

much  resistance  as  possible,  to  the  plundering  efforts  of  a 

brawny  Irish  woman,  who  with  a  bag  by  her  side,  and  a 


i8 


PEMRERTON  ; 


hatchet  in  her  hand,  was  tugging  at  his  coat  to  ^et  it  oflf 
his  shouUicrs,  careless  of  the  pain  she  inflicted.  As  the 
ladies  rode  up,  they  heartl  her  say, 

"  Be  aisy  now,  you  ribil,  or  I'll  split  yer  head  with 
my  hatchet— as  I've  sarved  many  a  better  looking  lad  nor 

you." 

"  Moll  of  the  hatchet,"  said  Isabella,  in  a  low  voice  to 
her  sister.     "  It  must  be  she." 

The  woman,  looking  up,  suddenly  perceived  them. 
"What  are  the  likes  of  ye  doin'  here ?"  she  exclaimed 
hoarsely.     "  This  is  a  swate  place  for  the  gintry,  sure." 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  Isabella,  "you  certainly  are 
not  robbing  or  hurting  that  wounded  soldier  I  " 

"He  isn't  a  woundea  soger,  he's  a  baste  of  a  ribil. 
Ride  on  wid  ye,  or  it'll  be  the  wus  for  you.     Ride  on,  I 

say." 

■  Moll  of  the  hatchet,  for  it  was  indeed  she,  whose  bad 
fame  as  a  cruel  robber  of  the  wounded  had  spread  through 
both  armies,  now  rose  to  her  feet,  and  shaking  her  hatchet 
menacingly,  again  hoarsely  bade  them  ride  onward. 

"Not  a  step!"  indignantly  exclaimed  Isabella;  "are 
you  not  ashamed  of  yourself,  you,  a  woman,  to  maltreat  a 
wounded  and,  perhaps,  a  dying  man  ?  " 

"  There's  no  use  talking  with  such  vile  Irish  trash,"  ex- 
claimed Helen,  her  haughty  blood  flaming  in  her  face,  as 
she  cut  her  horse  with  the  whip,  and  forced  him  between 
Moll  and  the  wounded  man,  nearly  overturning  the  woman. 
Then  flinging  her  whip  to  the  ground,  and  pulling  out  her 
pistol,  and  cocking  it,  she  presented  it  full  at  Moll's  face, 
exclaiming,  "  Now,  by  the  good  Lord  above  us,  if  you  do 
not  at  once  drop  that  hatchet,  and  leave  this  place,  I  will 
blow  your  cruel  brains  out !  " 

Moll  hesitated— though  her  face  blanched,  as  her  eyes 
looked  down  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol. 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


«9 


lis  coat  to  ^et  it  oflf 
le  inflicted.    As  the 

split  yer  head  with 
;tter  looking  lad  nor 

la,  in  a  low  voice  to 

ily  perceived   them, 
lere?  "  she  exclaimed 

the  gintry,  sure." 
,  "  you  certainly  are 

soldier!" 

3  a  baste  of  a  ribil. 
for  you.     Ride  on,  I 

ideed  she,  whose  bad 
;d  had  spread  through 
d  shaking  her  hatchet 
n  ride  onward, 
limed  Isabella;  "are 
woman,  to  maltreat  a 
?" 

I  vile  Irish  trash,"  ex- 
laming  in  her  face,  as 
i  forced  him  between 
vertuming  the  woman, 
d,  and  pulling  out  her 
[  it  full  at  Moll's  face, 
rd  above  us,  if  you  do 
eave  this  place,  I  will 

blanched,  as  her  eyes 
•1. 


'•  Down  with  your  hatchet,  I  say  I"  said  Helen,  in  the 
sui)pressed  lones  of  deep  passion.  "  One  moment  more, 
and  I  shoot." 

The  hatchet  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Now,  leave  this  spot — at  once  I" 

"  By  the  holy  Pathrick— she's  the  divil  of  an  angel,  or 
the  angel  of  a  divil,"  said  Moll,  in  a  half  stupor,  taking 
up  her  bag  to  depart. 

"Put  down  that  bag!"  said  Helen,  the  pistol  again 
bearing  on  Moll. 

The  bag  fell. 

"Now  go— and  at  once  1"— the  pistol  still  lowering— 
the  light,  firm  finger  on  the  trigger. 

"By  the  holy  divill"  muttered  Moll  to  herself,  as  she 
tramped  off— glancing  occasionally  behind,  to  see  the  pis- 
tol still  following  her,  until  the  mist  hid  her  from  view. 

"That  pistol  was  a  friend  in  need  after  all,  sis,"  said 
Helen,  demurely. 

"You  are  my  brave  and  noble  sister;  and  your  taking 
the  pistol  was  an  inspiration  from  heaven,"  replied  Isa- 
bella, gazing  admiringly  upon  her.  "  But  what  are  we  to 
do  now  ?  We  cannot  leave  this  rescued  knight  lying  here, 
perhaps  to  be  murdered  by  that  vile  hag,  perhaps  to  die 
from  want  of  proper  attention  to  his  wound.  There  must 
be  some  house  near,  into  which  he  could  be  taken." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  houses,  here  and  there,  along  the 
Main  road ;  suppose  you  go  and  see  if  you  cannot  bring 
help  from  one  of  them,  while  I  remain  here  on  guard  with 
my  pistol." 

"  I  hate  to  go  and  leave  you  alone." 

"And  I  hate  to  see  you  go  alone.    But  what  can  we 

do?" 

The  case  was  so  clear,  that  Isabella  turned  her  horse 
toward  the  Main  road,  in  quest  of  a  dwelling.    She  soon 


gg  PEMBERTON  ; 

came  to  the  rear  of  a  mcdium-size.l  stone  building  and 
ridin«  up  to  the  Icitchen  door,  bc-at  it  hist.ly  wuh  tlie  butt 
of  her  ri.ling-whip.  But  no  ono  .eemcd  to  In:  w.thin. 
Dismounting,  she  fa-stened  her  horse  to  a  part  of  the  gar- 
den fence  which  remained  standing,  and  pushed  oi^n  the 
door.  Entering,  she  nearly  stumbled  over  a  masculme 
form,  lying  extended  just  inside  the  threshold 

«  Bress  de  Lord  !  Bress  de  Lord  1"  the  white  black  hps 
of  a  prostrate  negro  were  ejaculating. 

"  Where  is  your  master?"  demanded  Isabella. 

"  Bress  de  Lord— he  am  down  in  de  cellur,"  replied  the 

"""owning  the  cellar  door,  Isabella  called  aloud— 

"Halloo— the  house  1" 

A  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  soon  a  tall,  gaunt 
form  in  Quaker  costume,  presented  itself. 

• '  What  does  thee  want  ?' '  said  the  figure.  ^ 

"  Is  the  cellar  the  usual  sitting-room  in  Germantown? 
inquired  Isabella,  sarcastically. 

"No,  not  the  usual  one.  But  thee  sees  when  bullets 
come  visiting  unexpectedly,  they  are  apt  to  put  quiet  house- 
keepers out- '-and  the  Quaker,  whose  face  denoted  a  fond- 
ness for  quaint  humor  and  sly  jokes,  gave  a  little  laugh. 
"But  what  does  thee  wish-has  thee  come  to  spend  a 
quiet  day  with  Uncle  Seth  and  Aunt  Hannah? 

In  a  few  words  Isabella  made  known  her  errand.  And 
to  do  Seth  justice,  now  that  good  was  to  be  done,  he  mani- 
fested very  little  fear  either  of  cannon-ball  or  bullet. 
Raising  the  trembling  negro  to  his  feet,  and  giving  him  a 
'  good  shaking  to  r'estore  his  mental  and  physical  eqmh- 
brium,  they  both  proceeded,  led  by  Isabella,  to  the  relief 
of  the  wounded  officer. 

"There  are  a  good  many  Quakers  about  Germantown, 
I  believe,"  said  Isabella,  as  they  walked  on^ 


on,   ONE   HUNPRED  YlARS   AOO. 


tft 


itone  btiiWing,  and 
Ui'tily  with  the  butt 
mctl  to  Ik:  within. 
;o  a  part  of  the  gar- 
nd  pushed  open  the 
d  over  a  masculine 
ireshold. 
the  white  black  lips 

d  Isabella, 
jceilur,"  replied  the 

lUed  aloud — 

id  soon  a  tall,  gaunt 

self. 

Sgure. 

n  in  German  town?" 

;e  sees  when  bullets 

pt  to  put  quiet  house- 
face  denoted  a  fond- 

;,  gave  a  little  laugh. 

ee  come  to  spend  a 

Hannah?" 

m  her  errand.  And 
to  be  done,  he  mani- 

nnon-ball  or  bullet. 

;et,  and  giving  him  a 
and  physical  equili- 

Isabella,  to  the  relief 

about  Germantown, 
feed  on. 


"Yes,  and  a  goo<l  many  quukers,  just  now,  who  ilo  not 
Iwlong  to  the  So(  iety  of  l-riends,"  repliftl  Seth.  "  Now, 
here's  this  darkey,  Juba— he's  been  the  worst  kind  of  a 
qiuiker,  ever  since  he  heard  the  first  gun  fired.  But 
there's  another  of  you,  is  there?"  added  he,  as  they  ap- 
proached Helen,  who  had  returned  the  pistol  to  her 
pocket,  dismounted  from  her  horse,  and  was  now  Ixmding 
over  the  wounded  man. 

She  said  lie  had  been  apparently  conscious  for  a  mo- 
ment, when  she  had  unloosed  the  tie  around  his  neck,  but 
had  soon  sunk  again  into  unconsciousness. 

••Fainted  from  loss  of  blood,"  said  Seth— and  taking 
the  wounded  officer  carefully  by  the  shoulders,  while  the 
negro  supported  his  feet,  they  carried  hin^  to  the  house. 
The  sisters  accompanied  them— one  leading  her  horse,  the 
other  carrying  the  hatchet  and  the  partially  filled  bag, 
which  the  Irish  woman  had  left  behind  her. 

When  they  entered  the  house,  Seth  deposited  his  inani- 
mate burden  on  a  settee,  and  said  briskly  to  a  kind-look- 
ing woman  of  middle  age,  who  had  come  up  from  her 
place  of  safety  to  see  what  was  going  on : 

••  Now,  mother— here's  a  wounded  soldier.  Bring  down 
some  quilts,  while  I  see  where  he  is  hurt.  Was  he  thrown 
from  his  horse,  at  the  time  he  was  wounded  ?" 

•'  Indeed  I  do  not  know— we  were  not  present— he  is  a 
perfect  stranger  to  us,"  replied  Isabella. 

The  Quaker  looked  as  astonished  as  one  of  his  composed 
sect  could  be  expected  to. 

••  I  thought  he  was  your  brother,  or  friend,"  said  he.     ' 

••No,  we  came  across  him  accidentally,"  rejoined  Isa- 
bella—and then  briefly  narrated  who  they  weie,  and  how 
they  had  left  their  uncle  to  seek  a  ^lace  of  safety,  and  their 
encounter  with  the  female  marc\ader— saying  nothing  of 
the  pistol  however. 


vl-' 


«i 


PEMBERTON  } 


"And  SO  you  persuaded  Moll  to  give  up  her  prey,  and 
leave  her  hatchet  and  her  plunder?  Well,  I  never! 
Bui,"  and  here  his  face  brightened,  "ah,  I  see— a  little 
silver  or  gold  will  do  a  great  deal.  Money  makes  even 
such  vicious  mares  as  Moll  go." 

During  his  remarks  however,  Seth  had  not  been  idle. 
H^-  had  examined  into  the  condition  of  the  wounded 
man's  shoulder,  which  was  the  injured  place,  and  was  now 
about  pouring  stfme  Jamaica  rum  into  a  cup.  While 
the  officer,  on  his  part,  manifested  symptoms  of  returnmg 
consciousness. 

"It  is  not  an  artery,"  said  Seth,  "that  seems  certam. 
The  blood  has  clotted  and  stopped  itself— and  I  will  not 
remove  the  linen  which  sticks  to  it,  because  I  might  set  it 
going  again.  When  he  swallows  a  spoonful  of  this  good 
liquor,  I  think  he'll  feel  stronger." 

As  the  officer's  face  assumed  a  more  natural  hue,  Seth 
started,  and  looked  at  him  earnestly.  Then  he  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  mother,  look  here !  Is  not  this  our  Stepheri's 
friend,' Lefttenant  Morris  of  McLane's    troop?    It  is, 

surely.  *  * 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  his  wife,  "I  wonder  thee  did 

not  see  it  was,  at  first." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to,  but  then  my  wits  were  wool- 
gathering in  a  very  different  direction." 

"  Now,"  said  Isabella  to  her  sister,  "  as  the  gentleman 
seems  to  be  doing  well,  and  is  among  his  friends,  perhaps 
we  had  better  pursue  our  ride." 

"What!"  said  the  Quaker  matron.  "You  do  not 
mean  to  go  out  among  those  dreadful  soldiers !" 

Seth  stepped  outside  of  the  kitchen  door.  "Come 
here,"  he  said  to  Isabella.     "  Hear  that !" 

The  noise  of  musketry,  which  had  been  only  faintly 
heard  for  the  past  half-hour,  was  evidently  swelling  up 


on; 

1  to  give  up  her  prey,  and 
lunder?  Well,  I  never! 
tened,  "ah,  I  see— a  little 
deal.     Money  makes  even 

,  Seth  had  not  been  idle. 
:ondition  of  the  wounded 
injured  place,  and  was  now 
rum  into  a  cup.  While 
ited  symptoms  of  returning 

Seth,  "  that  seems  certain. 
»pped  itself— and  I  will  not 
to  it,  because  I  might  set  it 
3ws  a  spoonful  of  this  good 
rer." 

;d  a  more  natural  hue,  Seth 

lestly.     Then  he  exclaimed, 

Is  not  this  our  Stephen's 

■  McLane's    troop?    It  is, 

swife,  "I  wonder  thee  did 

It  then  my  wits  were  wool- 

lirection." 

ler  sister,  "as  the  gentleman 

is  among  his  friends,  perhaps 

ter  matron.     "You  do  not 

dreadful  soldiers  1" 

the  kitchen  door.     "Come 

■'Hear  that!" 

fvhich  had  been  only  faintly 

r,  was  evidently  swelling  up 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


23 


again,  not  only  to  the  north  of  them,  at  Chew's  house,  but 
to  the  south,  in  the  direction  of  the  British  headquarters, 
and  between  themselves  and  Philadelphia. 

"  If  you  ride  either  north  or  south,  you  ride  into  the 
fire,"  said  Seth.  "  Now  take  an  old  man's  counsel.  Re- 
main here — in  comparative  safety.  In  perfect  safety,  if 
you  choose  to  go  below,  into  the  cellar,"  he  added  slyly. 

Helen  shook  her  head  to  the  last  proposition,  disdain- 
fully. 

"Well,  in  this  back  room,  with  the  front  of  the  house 
closed,  you  are  comparatively  safe ;  and  near  to  your  uncle 
besides.  I  will  put  your  horses  in  the  stable,  where  they 
will  take  their  chances  with  my  horse — the  only  one  they've 
left  me.  Mother  will  manage  to  find  us  something  to  eat 
for  dinner — if  we're  alive  to  eat  it — and  when  this  horri- 
ble affair  comes  to  a  conclusion,  as  I  suppose  it  soon  must, 
one  way  or  he  other,  you  can  mount,  and  ride  wherever 
you  think  best." 

"  Indeed  you  are  very  kind,"  said  Isabella.  "  We  dis- 
like to  trouble  you — " 

"  Not  a  particle  of  trouble,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Williams.  "  Come  up-stairs  now ;  I  know  you  would  like 
to  fix  a  little;"  and  she  led  the  way,  while  the  young 
ladies  smilingly  followed. 

At  this  juncture,  the  wounded  officer  drew  a  deep  breath 
and  opened  his  eyes.  Gazing  around  him  for  a  moment, 
he  said  in  a  faint  voice,  "  Why,  Uncle  Seth,  I  did  reach 
here,  after  all.  I  was  wounded  down  below,  and  thought 
I  should  never  get  to  you.  What  a  dream  I  have  had  !  I 
thought  I  was  dead,  and  a  fiend  and  sn  angel  were  fight- 
ing over  my  body,  to  see  which  should  have  me !  "  and 
the  young  man  smiled  faintly. 

"Hem !  thee  is  all  right — ^but  thee  had  better  not  talk 
any  more  just  now,  but  turn  over  and  go  to  sleep.     Mo- 


m 


PEMBERTON ; 


i 


ther  is  a  splendid  nurse,  and  I'm  as  good  as  a  doctor;  and, 
if  thee  minds  what  we  say,  thee' 11  get  well  before  many 
weeks,  I  warrant." 

The  young  man  closed  his  eyes,  and  seemed  to  obey 
very  easily  the  advice  given  him.  While  Seth  turned  his 
face  toward  Juba,  who  sat,  observant  of  all  that  was  going 
on,  in  the  comer  of  the  fireplace,  and  saw  the  latter' s 
white  ivories  illuminating  the  blackness  of  his  visage  from 
ear  to  ear. 

"What  is  thee  grinning  about?"  said  Seth,  severely — 
"go  out  at  once,  and  stable  those  horses." 

Then  he  sat  down  in  a  chair,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  some- 
thing himself  hugely,  though  in  a  very  quiet,  subdued  and 
decorous  Quaker  fashion. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  young'men  will  be  young  men,  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter,"  said  he  at  length  to  himself,  appar- 
ently as  the  result  of  his  meditations 


CHBW  S   HOUSE. 


good  as  a  doctor  J  and, 
get  well  before  many 

,  and  seemed  to  obey 
iVhile  Seth  turned  his 
it  of  all  that  was  going 
and  saw  the  latter' s 
aess  of  his  visage  from 

said  Seth,  severely — 
orses." 

seemed  to  enjoy  some- 
;ry  quiet,  subdued  and 

I  be  young  men,  to  the 
igth  to  himself,  appar- 
s 


OR,    ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  2$ 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE   BATTLE   IN  THE  MIST. 

MoKTON.    Huw  went  the  battle  t 
PiETKO.  Excellent,  my  lord; 

We  did  not  all  we  set  about  to  do, 
But  then  we  gave  the  braggart  enemy 
A  most  uncommon  scare. 

We  avail  ourselves  of  this  pause  in  our  narrative,  to 
sketch  in  a  few  words  the  main  features  of  the  battle  which 
came  so  unexpectedly,  like  a  summer  thunderstorm,  upon 
Col.  Musgrave  and  his  fair  visitors. 

Lying  on  the  Germantown  or  Skippack  road,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  about  six  miles  from  Philadelphia,  the  village  of 
Germantown  extended  in  a  line  of  scattered  stone  houses, 
for  about  two  miles  in  a  northwesterly  direction. 

Across  the  centre  of  the  village,  where  the  road  was 
widened  for  the  erection  of  a  market-house,  the  British 
army  lay  stretched  like  some  huge  bird  of  prey — some 
vulture,  or  some  condor  of  the  desert  —  measuring 
about  four  miles  from  the  tip  of  one  huge  wing  on 
the  New  York  road,  to  the  tip  of  the  other  on  ihe 
Schuylkill. 

But  the  weight  of  the  body  lay  in  the  centre,  directly  in 
and  around  the  market  place,  where  its  iron  beak  and 
talons — in  the  shape  of  a  splendid  park  of  artillery — 
were  lying  ready  to  tear  and  rend  whenever  the  occasion 
offered. 

In  front,  to  secure  the  army  against  surprise,  were  a  de- 
tachment of  light  infantry  at  Mount  Airy,  and  the  Fortieth 
regiment,  under  Col.  Musgrave,  at  Chew's  House — ^with 
other  detachments  in  equally  available  positions. 

The  British  force  had  been  weakened  by  the  detaching 
of  three  thousand  men,  comprising  the  ciitc  of  the  army, 


i 


,  pemberton;  ' 

to  Kurrison  Philadelphia,  and  make  glad  the  hearts  of  the 
W  h  that  important  city.  Another  force  also  haxi  been 
dmch  d  against  the  American  defences  on  the  Delaware 
t  1  we  1  aware  of  these  movements,  after  havmg  been 
tHi  reinforced  by  fresh  troops  from  New  Jersey  and 
Maryland,  W.vshington  determined  -^J^^^^ 
Sir  William  Howe,  even    in    the   midst  of  his  fancied 

'' The  Plan  of  the  American  attack  wa.s  well  conceived  and 
daH  g  It  was  to  make  a  night  march,  to  cut  off  the  Bnt.sh 
i  £  l^fore  daybreak  at  the  advanced  1-t  -  ^^o- 
Airy,  so  that  they  could  not  give  the  -l-^-^^^^jJ^^^^^^^^ 
a  to  nado  upon  the  light  infantry  and  Col.  Mu^g^^e  « 
redment  dr  ving  them  as  chaff  before  the  wmd-and  thus 
SlT  u  on  the  BrLh  main  line  at  the  centre  of  the  town, 

.hile  it  W.XS  wholly  or  1-^;;;^;^  ^^^^^^^  ^,,,_,  ,y 

Gen  Greene  was  to  co-operaie  wuu  ,       ,,     ^    „^ 

ma^cWng  down  the  Limekiln  road,  which  led  to  the  fro^it 

weieht  of   numbers,   and    the    leu  wi»k  „„„  v,p 

weigni  "  -^^  ^  V  ctonous  army  be- 

quietly  capturmg  or  killing  the  phkc    , 

purpose.     The  alarm  was  given,  and  soon  the  three 


wh 

sh: 
wil 
on 

tlK 

foil 

poi 

tio 

an 

but 

bar 

a  1 

bui 

ren 

the 

had 
ren 
anc 
of 

roa 
can 
the 
J 
brij 
staf 

I 

the 
fire 
oth 

J 


i 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


n 


;lad  the  hearts  of  the 
r  force  also  had  been 
:es  on  the  Delaware. 
i,  after  having  been 
rem  New  Jersey  and 
to  strike  a  blow  at 
nidst  of  his  fancied 

as  well  conceived  and 
1,  to  cut  off  the  British 
anced  post  at  Mount 

alarm — to  break  like 
and  Col.  Musgrave's 
re  the  wind — and  thus 
le  centre  of  the  town, 
epared. 

th  this  movement,  by 
which  led  to  the  front 

also  unprepared,  and 
,e  central  point,  the 
ring  would  either  be 
verwhelmed  by  sheer 
I  wing    thrown    back 

a  victorious  army  be- 
somed to  surrender  at 

and  only  needed  good 
d  execution.  But  the 
i,  and  by  the  time  the 
awned,  and  the  British 
ing.  Captain  McLane, 
3n  intrusted  the  duty  of 
:kets,  failed  to  effect  his 
nd  soon  the  three  field 


pieces  at  Mount  Airy  communicated  that  alarm  to  the 
whole  British  camp.  Wayne,  hotter  than  ever  from  the 
shame  of  his  recent  midnight  defeat,  pressed  on  dauntlessly 
with  his  brigade  of  Pennsylvanians — his  soldiers  shouting  to 
one  another,  "  Jicmeml>er  Pao/i  /  " — but  they  met  men  of 
the  same  stalwart  race ;  and  the  British  advance,  with  ten- 
fold their  number  in  front  of  them,  knowing  well  the  im- 
portance of  time,  maintained  to  the  full  the  ancient  reputa- 
tion of  their  anns.  Forced  back  upon  Musgrave,  after  half 
an  hour's  hard  fighting,  the  latter  also  soon  yielded  ground, 
but  flung  himself  into  the  stone  mansion  of  Judge  Chew, 
barricading  its  lower  doors  and  windows,  and  keeping  up 
a  heavy  fire  from  the  second  story,  the  roof,  and  the  out- 
buildings ;  while  the  remnant  of  the  light  infantry,  pursued 
remorselessly  by  Wayne's  maddened  soldiery,  fled  down 
the  road  toward  the  main  body. 

To  add  to  the  difficulties  of  the  assailants,  a  heavy  mist 
had  arisen,  which,  combined  with  the  smoke  of  the  battle, 
rendered  all  objects  obscure  at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards, 
and  prevented  the  commanders  from  knowing  the  position 
of  their  various  corps  and  reginients. 

Wayne  had  pressed  on  after  the  British,  down  the  main 
road  toward  the  market-house  ;  but  when  Conway's  corps 
came  up,  it  halted  and  joined  those  who  were  engaged  in 
the  assault  upon  Musgrave. 

At  this  moment  up  rode  Sullivan,  at  the  head  of  his 
brigade,  and  with  him  the  Commander-in-Chief  and  his 
staff,  with  General  Knox,  of  the  artillery. 
"  What  is  this?  "  asked  Washington. 
He  might  well  ask,  for  nothing  could  be  seen,  though 
the  bullets  were  whistling  all  around  them,  and  a  return 
fire,  accompanied  with  shouts,  could  be  heard  from  the 
other  side  of  the  stone  wall  which  lined  the  road. 

An  oflScer  of  Conway's  brigade  answered.     "A  party 


I 


38 


PEMBERTON ; 


of  British  have  thrown  themselves  into  a  large  stone  house, 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  road,  and  we  are  trying 
to  dislodge  them." 

"  Wait  a  moment  till  I  bring  up  my  cannon,"  said  Gen. 
Knox,  a  very  corpulent  but  withal  active  man,  with  an 
animated,  resolute  face. 

"  This  is  madness !  "  broke  in  one  of  Washington's  aids, 
a  small,  handsome  and  fiery  young  man,  called  at  that  day 
by  some  "  the  little  lion,"  but  afterwards  known  as  one  of 
the  wisest  of  statesmen  and  ablest  of  financiers— Hamilton 

the  Immortal ! 

"  It  would  be  madness  to  leave  a  fort  in  our  rear,  to  cut 
off  our  line  of  communication,"  replied  Knox.  '*  That  is 
against  one  of  the  first  maxims  of  military  science." 

"  A  fort  1 "  echoed  Hamilton,  disdainfully.  ■"  Leave  a 
regiment  here  to  watch  them,  and  drive  them  back  if  they 
attempt  mischief— but  oar  time  is  too  precious  to  waste  in 
battering  down  houses." 

"Yes,  but  who  knows  that  the  British  are  not  march- 
ing up  through  the  fields  on  the  other  side,  and  in  force, 
to  their  support,"  interposed  Sullivan.  "They  would 
take  us  then  in  flank  and  rear." 

All  turned  to  the  commander.  "  Perhaps,"  said  he, 
"  while  we  stand  here  considering,  an  earnest  attack  will 
capture  the  house,  and  settle  the  question  to  please  ajl  of 
us.  We  have  to  decide  at  a  venture,  for  we  can  see  noth- 
ing in  this  mist.  Major  White,  cannot  you  take  a  pai.y, 
and  force  the  main  door  ?  " 

"Or  fire  the  doors  and  shutters?"  suggested  Hamil- 
ton. .     , 

.  Major  White,  reputed  to  be  the  handsomest  man  m  the 
army,  as  he  had   been  previously  in  the  ball-rooms  of 
Philadelphia,  smiled  proudly  as  he  answered— 
"I  will  try,  general." 


c: 

ri' 
rii 
St; 

cc 

th 
un 
stc 
su< 
an 
wc 

bu 
ba 
op 

qu 
br< 
ra^ 
rei 
of 

to 
try 
"1 
1 
att; 
bul 
hac 
left 
bul 


to  a  large  stone  house, 
ad,  and  we  are  trying 

ly  cannon,"  said  Gen. 
active  man,  with  an 

•  of  Washington's  aids, 
man,  called  at  that  day 
wards  known  as  one  of 
f  financiers — Hamilton 

fort  in  our  rear,  to  cut 
)lied  Knox.  '*  That  is 
lihtary  science." 
sdainfully.  ^' Leave  a 
Irive  them  back  if  they 
oo  precious  to  waste  in 

British  are  not  march- 
iher  side,  and  in  force, 
livan.      "They  would 

"Perhaps,"  said  he, 
,  an  earnest  attack  will 
iiestion  to  please  ajl  of 
re,  for  we  can  see  noth- 
:annot  you  take  a  pai^y, 

:rs?"  suggested  Hamil- 

handsomest  man  in  the 
y  in  the  ball-rooms  of 
;  answered — 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  t|| 

Knox  rode  off  rapidly,  notwithstanding,  to  bring  up  his 
cannon. 

Major  Wliite  dashed  against  the  door,  it  was  already 
ridilled  with  musket  bullets,  but  it  had  been  strongly  bar- 
ricaded, and  his  men  dropped  off  rapidly  beneath  the  con- 
stant fire  from  the  upper  windows. 

Then  he  had  some  pieces  of  rails  and  other  light  stuff 
collected,  and  darted  forward  again  alone,  with  a  fagot  of 
these,  a  bundle  of  straw,  and  a  lighted  torch.  Sheltered 
under  the  cornice  of  the  doorway,  while  his  men  poured  a 
steady  rain  of  balls  into  the  upper  windows,  he  might  have 
succeeded — but  a  shot  from  a  cellar  window  struck  him, 
and  he  staggered  back  off  the  steps,  and  fell  mortally 
wounded  upon  the  ground. 

By  this  time  Knox  had  got  a  field-piece  in  position — 
but  his  heaviest  guns  were  six  pounders,  and  while  the 
balls  went  through  the  walls  of  the  house,  they  made  no 
opening  by  which  a  foe  could  enter. 

A  half  hour  had  been  wasted.  Washington  had  sat 
quietly  upon  his  horse,  listening  to  the  reports  his  aids  had 
brought  him,  seemingly  unconscious  of  the  storm  of  bullets 
raging  around,  until  in  compliance  with  General  Sullivan's 
repeated  importunities,  he  shifted  his  position  a  little  out 
of  the  range  of  the  heaviest  fire. 

"  Hamilton  was  right,"  said  he  at  length,  "as  he  is  apt 
to  be.  But,  as  we  have  remained  this  long,  suppose  we 
try  a  summons  to  surrender.  General" — to  Sullivan — 
"  have  a  parley  beaten,  and  a  flag  of  truce  sent  in." 

Unfortunate  order.  The  American  advance,  while  this 
attack  was  going  on,  had  dashed  against  the  British  centre, 
but  had  been  met  by  a  determined  resistance.  Wayne 
had  penetrated  to  the  Market  Square ;  Greene,  with  the 
left  wing,  had  forced  his  way  nearly  to  the  same  point  y 
but  the  British  were  recovering  from  the  first  shock,  were 


f 


"i 
•I 


m 


"■M^ijaNiiateSilijtj-dijti 


10' 


„  PEMBERTON  J 

bringing  up  regiments  from  the  left  and  rear  theammuni- 
Urof  Wayne's  men  had  given  ^^^'^^^Z^^TZ 
had  been  surrounded  and  captured,  it  was  difficult  in  the 
^tt  and  smoke  to  distinguish  friend  from  foe  and  when 
r  parley  was  beaten  at  Chew's,  it  was  taken  by  many  of 
;;;:;indiiiplinedAn.rica.^-^^^^^ 

their  officers,  several  of  the  regiments  turned  and  Aed 

As  the  confused  mass  came  surging  back  up  the  main 
3treet,  breaking  the  lines  of  Sullivan's  brigade,  it  w.^evi- 
dent  that  all  the  chances  of  success  had  passed,  and  W...h 
ington  reluctantly  gave  the  order  to  retreat.  And  thus 
bad  roads,  and  mist,  and  the  mistaken  delay  as  it  p  ov  d 
at  Chew's  house,  and  the  want  of  ammunition,  ^nd  ^henm- 
understanding  of  a  drum-beat,  lost  the  battle  of  German- 
town. 


WAUTOT  STKiar  FKONT  OF  THE  STATB  HOUSB  m  ^,l6. 


SIT 

ha 
m( 
wa 
let 
th( 
of 
hu 
th< 

do 
Ar 

SWi 

hat 

hai 

to 

ha 

dii 

yoi 

fell 

of 

Mi 

cle 

ha< 

W( 

the 


m 

nil; 


!>■; 


id  rear,  the  ammuni- 
a  Virginia  regiment 
was  difficult  in  the 
from  foe,  and  when 
IS  taken  by  many  of 
beating  of  a  retreat. 
:.     "The   retreat  is 
e  of  all  the  efforts  of 
5  turned  and  fled. 
ig  back,  up  the  main 
s  brigade,  it  was  evi- 
ad  passed,  and  Wash- 
0  retreat.     And  thus 
en  delay  as  it  proved 
nunition,  and  the  mis- 
the  battle  of  German- 


»TB  HOUSB  m  »7A 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO.  3I 


'       '         CHAPTER  IV. 

CAPTa'iN    ANDRE. 

A  handsome  man,  and,  more,  n  lovable  I 
And,  though  an  enemy,  our  honor  bids 
Due  CDirrtainmcnt  should  be  given  him. 

By  eleven  o'clock  the  battle  was  over.  The  mist  and 
smoke  alike  had  cleared  away.  The  sounds  of  the  conflict 
had  subsided  into  the  calm  peace  of  a  sunny  Autumnal 
morning.  And  were  it  not  for  the  holes  and  rents  left  in  the 
walls  and  wood-work  of  the  houses  by  the  passage  of  bul- 
lets and  cannon-balls,  and  the  stark  and  ghastly  bodies  of 
the  slain,  and  the  convulsed  limbs  and  suppressed  groans 
of  wounded  men,  no  one  would  have  supposed  that  the 
hurricane  of  war  had  so  recently  darkened  and  deafened 
the  apparently  careless  and  unconscious  heavens. 

Seth  Williams  and  his  visitors,  standing  at  his  front 
door,  had  seen  Cornwallis  dash  on  after  the  retreating 
Americans  at  the  head  of  his  cavalry,  all  wet  with  the 
sweat  ar  d  foam  of  their  rapid  gallop  from  Philadelphia — 
had  seen  the  grenadiers  and  Highlanders,  panting  and  ex- 
hausted with  their  six  miles  rui5,  flinging  themselves  down 
to  rest  upon  the  sides  of  the  road,  and  on  the  steps  of  the 
houses — and  then  had  gone  in  to  partake  of  a  country 
dinner,  which  Mrs.  Williams  had  prepared  for  them.  The 
young  ladies  ate  with  but  a  moderate  appetite,  for  they 
felt  anxious,  not  only  for  their  uncle,  but  for  other  officers 
of  the  British  army  whom  they  knew  intimately,  although 
Mrs.  Williams's  food  was  of  the  best,  and  served  on  the 
cleanest  of  pewter  platters.  A  batter  pudding  which  she 
had  boiled  in  a  bag,  and  which  was  eaten  with  butter  and 
West  India  molasses,  was  of  itself  enough  to  have  tempted 
the  appetite  of  an  epicure — if  any  epicure  ever  had  a  real 


M    ,       •  pkmuerton; 

and  genuine  apiietite.  But  it  was  in  vain  she  pressed  her 
viands  upon  her  visitors— they  were  too  anxious  at  heart  to 
enjoy  anything  but  good  news. 

"  Now,"  said  Seth,  as  he  rose  from  the  table,  "  I  will 
travel  up  toward  friend  Chew's,  and  see  if  I  can  find  your 
uncle,  young  women,  and  let  hira  know  where  you  are, 
and  that  you  are  safe  and  hearty." 
The  ladies  looked  their  thanks. 

"  As  for  Morris,  I'm  glad  we  got  him  so  soon  up-stairs 
—for  if  any  of  those  pesky  soldiers  should  come  peeking 
in  here,  they  might  make  both  him  and  us  trouble." 

Putting  on  his  slouched  hat,  Seth  left  the  house,  and 
made  his  way  up  the  street.  Parties  of  soldiers  were 
already  engaged  in  carrying  the  wounded  into  the  nearest 
barns  and  other  buildings,  wiiere  the  surgeons  were  busily 
employed.  Others  assisted  by  the  citizens  were  burying 
the  dead,  several  of  whom,,  as  Seth  saw,  had  been  plun- 
dered to  the  very  skin,  and  were  lying  livid  to  blackness, 
and  almost  naked,  on  the  side  of  the  road,  where  they  had 
either  crawled  themselves,  or  been  dragged  by  others. 

"  And  these  be  Christian  men,  who  rend  a.  d  tear  each 
other  in  this  savage  fashion  !"  muttered  Seth.  "  For  my 
part,  I  never  could  call  myself  a  ChriEtian,  if  I  took  part 
in  such  horrid  doings." 

A  short  distance  brought  him  to  Judge  Chew's  place. 
Everything  looked  indeed  as  if  a  tornado  had  passed 
through  there.  The  pleasant  paths  were  torn  up,  the 
marble  statues  and  vases  mutilated  and  overthrown, 
branches  of  the  trees  were  broken  off,  and  hanging  oyer 
and  strewing  the  walks— and  the  fair  mansion  itself,  with 
its  doors  and  shutters  riddled  with  bullets,  was  torn  with 
cannon-balls,  and  blackened  with  fire  and  smoke.  Above, 
scarcely  a  pane  of  glass  or  an  entire  window-sash  remained. 
Soldiers  were  moving  about,  looking  as  dirty  and  grimy 


a 
a 

tl 
1> 
P 
A 

Pl 


th 
hi 

gi 
es 

sh 

re 
« 

ro 
F< 


an 
Bi 
kn 

gT' 

of 


ain  she  pressed  her 
)  anxious  at  heart  to 

the  table,  "  I  will 
;e  if  I  can  find  your 
low  where  you  are, 


im  so  soon  up-stairs 
hould  come  peeking 
id  us  trouble." 
left  the  house,  and 
ies  of  soldiers  were 
ded  into  the  nearest 
surgeons  were  busily 
itizens  were  burying 
saw,  had  been  plun- 
g  livid  to  blackness, 
road,  where  they  had 
agged  by  others, 
o  rend  a.  d  tear  each 
red  Seth.     "For  my 
ristian,  if  I  took  part 

Judge  Chew's  place. 

tornado  had  passed 
i  were  torn  up,  the 
;d  and  overthrown, 
ff,  and  hanging  over 
r  mansion  itself,  with 
bullets,  was  torn  with 

and  smoke.  Above, 
indow-sash  remained, 
g  as  dirty  and  grimy 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO.  it 

as  the  house  itself — their  faces  blackened  with  gunpowder, 
and  their  clothes  torn  and  soiled. 

"  Where  can  I  find  the  colonel?"  asked  Scth  of  one  of 
them.  ^ 

The  soldier  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  simply 
pointed  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

"Ad d  Quaker!"  said  he  to  a  comrade,  as  Seth 

passed  on. 

Suddenly  Colonel  Musgrave  turned,  and  perceived  him. 
Advancing  with  rapid  strides,  he  confronted  him,  saying — 

"You  bring  me  word  of  my  nieces?    Are  they  safe?" 

"Safe — but  mightily  distressed  to  hear  from  thee,"  re- 
plied Seth. 

"  How  far  off  are  they  ?    I  will  go  to  them  this  minute." 

"  What,  so  near?"  said  the  colonel,  when  Seth  told  him. 
"  Tell  them  I  will  come  in  a  few  moments,  and  ride  with 
them  to  town  as  we  had  arranged.  Poor  girls,  they  must 
be  anxious  to  reach  home. ' ' 

Seth  returned.  And  in  a  few  moments  Colonel  Mus- 
grave was  at  the  door — and  in  his  nieces'  arms.  He  had 
escaped  without  a  scratch — and  was  highly  elated  with  his 
share  in  the  fight.  "  We  met  and  rolled  back  the  whole 
rebel  army!"  exclaimed  he  with  pardonable  exaggeration. 
"  They  dashed  against  our  stone  fort  like  waves  against  a 
rock — but  they  cotild  make  no  impression  on  my  gallant 
Fortieth!" 

Helen  smiled  proudly,  and  kissed  his  bronzed  cheek. 
"  You  are  my  own  gallant  uncle,  my  father's  dearest  friend  j 
and  the  Fortieth  is  the  bravest  regiment  in  the  service ! 
But,"  continued  she,  "is  any  one  hurt — ^any  one  that  we 
know?" 

A  shadow  settled  on  the  colonel's  face.  "Alas,  the 
greatest  victory  will  have  its  sacrifices.  The  cruel  Moloch 
of  War  always  demands  its  living  victims.     Many  of  my 


I! 


.V.J,:- 


34 


PEMnKRTON  ; 


best  and  bravest  ofTu  era  and  men  arc  dead— and  others 
maimed  for  life.  Captain  Campbell  is  dea.l.  1  x-grauKc  h 
wounde.1.  Si.ni«oti  has  lost  his  leg.  UrviUe  his  arm. 
Oh,  it  is  a  loiH!,  <niel  list  1"  \ 

"May  God's  merry  be  with  the  dead  and  with  the 
living!"  said  luabella,  fervently,  while  the  tears  stood  in 

her  eyes. 

«<  And  outside  of  your  own  regiment  ?  Have  you  heard 
from  the  main  body?"  impiired  Helen  eagerly. 

"Only  partially.  General  Agnew  is  deail— kdled 
almost  at  the  close  of  th.:  battle,  and  not  far  from  this 

spot."  ,,      ., 

"It  must  have  been   that  last  sudden  volley,     said 

Helen;  " startling  us  with  its  nearness,  when  wc  thought 

all  was  over."  .    ,  >    r     ^ 

"  A  small  body  of  rebels  threw  themselves  in  his  front 
from  the  side  of  the  road  ;  he  was  leading  on  his  troops, 
but  turned  his  horse  to  ride  back  as  he  saw  them.  They 
delivered  a  volley  and  fled,  shooting  him  in  the  back. 
Alas,  poor  Agnew-he  was  a  noble  fellow  1 " 

"  Was  General  Grey's  division  in  the  action,  pursued 
Helen,  her  cheek  coloring  a  rather  deei^erred;  "and  is 

the  general  safe  ?"  ,     ,  a. 

"Yes  the  general   is  unhurt ;  he  brought  up  the  left 

wing  in  good  time,  and  did  good  service.    Trust  our  '  No 

Flint'  for  that." 

"  Is  Major  Tarleton  safe?"  still  queried  Helen. 

"And  General  Grey's  aid.  Captain  Andr6?"  added 
Isabella,  with  a  glance  at  her  sister.  ^    ^      ,       , 

"Yes  I  think  Tarleton  and  Andr6  are  both  safe.  1 
saw  Grey  for  a  moment,  and  he  said  nothing  of  Andr6's 
being  hurt,  which  he  certainly  would  have  done  if  it  had 
been  so,  for  Andr6  is  such  a  favorite  of  his-and  of  every, 
body's,  for  that  matter." 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   VRABS   AOO. 


35 


re  tlead — and  others 
is  dead.  LcgnmgeiH 
;.     Urville   his  arm. 

dead  and  with  the 
lie  the  tears  stood  in 

nt  ?  Have  you  heard 
L-n  eagerly. 

icw  is  dead — killed 
.nd  not  far  from  this 

sudden  volley,"  said 
less,  when  we  thought 

lemselves  in  his  front 
eading  on  his  troops, 
1  he  saw  them.  They 
ng  him  in  the  back. 
Fellow  1" 

1  the  action,"  pursued 
decider  red;  "and  is 

le  brought  up  the  left 
srvice.    Trust  our  '  No 

[ueried  Helen. 

ptain  Andr6?"   added 

idr6  are  both  safe.  I 
id  nothing  of  Andr6's 
Id  have  done,  if  it  had 
e  of  his— and  of  every^ 


Helen  secincfl  at  length  satisfied  And  the  (onversa- 
lion  then  tiirned  uixm  the  young  Ln.iesand  their  adven- 
tures. Nothing  w:us  said  however  about  "  Moll  of  the 
hat(het,"  or  the  wounded  American  officer — the  young 
ladies  evidently  not  feeling  (|uite  certain  of  their  ground, 
as  their  un(  le,  with  all  iiis  kindness,  had  very  little  resiKJct 
for  rebels,  and  just  at  that  moment  especially,  could  not  be 
exjiet  ted  to  be  in  a  very  pla<  able  and  forgiving  mood. 
They  introduced  him  formally,  however,  to  Seth  and  his 
wife,  and  saiil  how  greatly  they  were  indebted  to  their 
kindness.  And  the  colonel  testified  his  gratitude  in  a  few 
simple  and  manly  words,  ending  with  an  intimation  to 
tiiem  to  let  him  know  if  any  of  the  British  soldiers  gave 
them  trouble,  as  he  might  be  able  to  set  matters  straight. 

"And  now,  girls,"  cried  he,  "let  vis  motmt  and  ride," 

The  young  ladies  wei.i  up-stairs  to  get  their  riding  caps, 
as  they  said — but  also  to  say  a  few  words  doubtless  to 
liieutenant  Morris,  who,  what  with  the  rest  and  a  little 
food,  was  already  quite  another  man.  He  was  still  weak 
however  from  the  loss  of  blood,  though  Seth  said  that  his 
woimd  was  by  no  means  a  serious  one. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  thank  you,  ladies;  you  proba- 
l)ly  saved  my  life,"  said  he  with  great  earnestness,  as  they 
announced  their  intention  of  leaving. 

"  Oh,  it  was  all  Helen's  doing,"  replied  Isabella. 

"Nonsense.  I  just  happened  to  have  the  pistol,  that 
was  all." 

"  I  suppose  all  such  things  just  happen,"  said  the  officer, 
smiling.  "  Perhaps  Heaven  aUows  them  to  just  happen — 
but  not  the  less  is  it  true  that  to  you.  Miss  Helen,  I  proba- 
bly owe  my  life.  And  therefore  1  am  in  honor  bound  to 
hold  it  at  your  service.  And  will  pay  the  debt,  whenever 
you  or  yours  need  it." 

"Lieutenant  Morris,"  replied  Helen,  "what  I  did  for 


36 


PEMBERTON  J 


v™  I  would  just  as  freely  have  done  for  any  other  man- 
Sd  rcneiy..  And  vou  pain  me  by  talking  as  you  do. 
Y«.  not  consider -yourself  under  any  such  gnevous 

'"Ifcrilr;  i^a  pleasant  burden ,"  replied  the  young 

'^^"■oi^^ou'not  ready,    Time  is  flying  while  you 
are  fixinc  "  called  the  colonel  up  the  stairway. 
"'isaS  extended  her  ha,ul_the  young  o«cer  pressed  . 
1        w«.i^n  pxtended  hers — he  took  it  and  presseu  u 
IZX  tfSt      snatching  it  away,  and  blushing 
"  Helen  spLg  after  her  sister,  who  was  already 

'"!^lM!Sas~une  ladies  a. enible  time  to  arrange 
your  wftndV  on  your  riding  caps,"  exclaimed  Colo- 
eel  Musgrave,  a  little  impatiently. 

"Oh  Helen  was  dreaming,  as  usual,  of  *=  days  ol 
chiv^r;,  and  knights  and  ladies  fair,"  rephed  Isabella, 
archly. 

;u"a  to!r;;^"hand  was  pressed  over  his  lips,  and  in- 
tercepted the  rest  of  the  colonel's  sentence. 

"wlu,  say  good-bye,  and  let  us  be  gomg,"  resumed  he. 

.  "^"iSc  a  warm  adieu  of  Seth  and  his  wife,  and  promis- 
JS  ride  "rtTnd  see  them  before  many  days,  the  young 
rriunted.  and  resumed  *^  *  ™- ^d' h' 
:*  r-i;:rr tirin^a'C  «A,d  imposmg 

-H;.io^tTi^-*.-5:^-^^^^^ 

Z  nt'esuo  him-self  or  his  wounded  guest,  to  let 

c"k:i:rrc.givmghimt^^^^^^^^ 

And  Seth  had  replied  that  he  expecicu 


'1 


•on; 

done  for  any  other  man- 
in  me  by  talking  as  you  do. 
If  under  any  such  grievous 

aurden !"  replied  the  young 

}  Time  is  flying  while  you 
up  the  stairway, 
-the  young  officer  pressed  it 
•s— he  took  it  and  pressed  it 
ling  it  away,  and  blushing 
her  sister,  who  was  already 

s  a  terrible  time  to  arrange 
ling  caps,"  exclaimed  Colo- 

ntly. 

ig,  as  usual,  of  the  days  of 

idles  fair,"  replied  Isabella, 


pressed  over  his  lips,  and  in- 

nel's  sentence. 

let  us  be  going,"  resumed  he, 

eth  and  his  wife,  and  promis- 
before  many  days,  the  young 
i  their  ride  under  more  favor- 
Colonel  Musgrave  and  his 
in  a  very  stiff  and  imposing 
la  mounted,  however,  she  had 
le  to  Seth,  that  if  anything  oc- 
f  or  his  wounded  guest,  to  let 
^im  their  direction  in  the  city, 
tie  expected  to  be  in  town  in  a 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


37 
theni 


day  or  two,  and  would  call  in  any  event,  and  let 
know  how  affairs  were  going  on. 

The  road  was  considerably  thronged  as  they  rode  down 
toward  the  city — alike  with  soldiers  and  with  the  inhabit- 
ants, who  were  gazing  with  deep  interest  on  all  the  sad 
traces  of  the  combat.  The  wounded  generally  had  been 
by  this  time  removed,  but  parties  were  still  employed  in 
burying  the  dead.  At  one  place,  just  inside  i  field,  a  large 
shallow  grave  had  been  dug,  and  fifteen  or  twenty  of  the 
American  dead  lay  beside  it,  as  Colonel  Musgrave  and  his 
party  rode  up.  Stopping  their  horses  at  the  side  of  the 
lOad,  they  gazed  pitifully  upon  the  solemn  scene.  The 
British  soldiers  began  to  lift  in  the  bodies,  placing  the  faces 
upward.     Suddenly  the  colonel  spoke : 

"  Not  so,  my  men ;  put  them  with  their  faces  downward. 
Let  us  not  cast  the  dirt  into  their  faces,,  for  they  also  are 
mothers'  sons." 

"  What  a  queer  compound  man  is,"  continued  the  colo- 
nel, half  apologizing  as  they  rode  on.  "  Here  am  I,  fresh 
from  dashing  steel  and  bullets  into  the  faces  of  live  rebels 
— ^and  yet  tender  of  flinging  a  little  dirt  into  th|ft%;gs  of 


dead  ones. 


"And  you  would  not  be  my  own  noble  uncle,  IT  you 
were  not  thus  inconsistent,"  replied  Isabella,  while  HelcDi 
warmly  assented  with  her  expressive  eyes.        ^  ' 

Soon  they  reached  the  market-place,  where  a  number  of 
ofiicers  were  assembled,  some  on  foot,  some  mounted,  at 
General  Grant's*  headquarters.  Many  were  the  saluta- 
tions, and  more  the  looks  of  surprise,  as  the  ladies  rode  by. 
Then  a  young  officer  followed,  and  riding  up  to  the  party, 


*  General  Grant  commanded  the  British  right  wing.    He  was  probably  of  the 
tame  Scottish  family  that  President  Grant  is  descended  from. 


V 


38 


VEMBERTON  ; 

L.«d  the  colonel,  a,>d  reined  in  hi.  ho,se  by  the  .ide  of 
'"fwy.  Wies,  you  have  no.  been  in  .he  ba...er  .aid 
""..No.  exacly  in  i.-and  ye. in  .he  mid.. of  i.,"  replied 

rX;trdl:crtro„lLhey  yield,  when  .hey 

wprc  defending  the  ladies  ? 

"mv  niL  were  not  with  me,  Captair.,  I  am  happy  o 
say '^lid  the  colonel.  "  I  do  not  know  where  we  co^M 
h^e  stowed  them  safely-^xcept  perhaps  m  the  wme 

''"  wl  ingloriouslv  fled  the  fight-though  in  obedience 
to  o^c  m'mander's  peremptory  orders  "  -^  I^beUa 
*' and  sought  a  harbor  of  safety  in  the  house  of  a  peace 

'T^etfam  glad  you  came  safely  through-and  glad 
that  I  did  not  know  of  the  perils  you  were  exposed  to 
""f.Th    battle  was  pretty  well  fought  on  both  s;de  ,  I 
think,  Captain  Andr^,"  said  Colonel  Musgrave         Gre> , 

r  .r."h:ri.rw.r:::::y '.o  onr  di.^van.^.  a.,^ 

i,i.I*le.ha.  so  audacious  an  a..emp.  «  *..,  ^ould 
ladiel'said  Andr.,  "  bu.  .hi.  U  of  cour.e  a  busy  day  a. 

•■-rrineix.^err.;Uihe.ieve,ye. 


ft 


OR,    ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


39 


horse  by  the  side  of 

in  the  battle?"  said 

midst  of  it,"  replied 

:d  as  aid  to  Colonel 
;  Fortieth  made  such 
ley  yield,  when  they 

aptain,  I  am  happy  to 
know  where  we  could 
perhaps  in  the  wine 

-though  in  obedience 

rders,"  said  Isabella; 

the  house  of  a  peace- 

;ly  through— and  glad 
,u  were  exposed  to." 
ught  on  both  sides,  I 
,el  Musgrave.     "  Grey, 
at  the  right  time." 
,r  the  thick  mist,  which 
view,   I  doubt  much 
gton's  army  would  have 

our  disadvantage.     And 

>  attempt  as  this,  should 

St  unpunished."    • 

3  Philadelphia  with  you, 

5  of  course  a  busy  day  at 

erton?" 

id  spirits,  I  believe,  yes- 


terday, when  we  left,"  said  Isabella.     "  Have  you  any 
message  for  him  ?'  * 

"  Tell  him  I  shall  be  in  the  city  in  a  day  or  two,  to  see 
him — if  he  does  not  ride  out  to  see  me.  Good-bye,  Colo- 
nel.    Good-bye,  ladies — au  revoir." 

Returning  his  adieus,  they  rode  on. 

"  That's  a  fine  fellow,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Splendid  !"  replied  Isabella.  "  He  is,  in  the  opinion 
of  us  ladies,  the  very  Chevalier  Bayard  of  the  army — ^with- 
out fear  and  without  reproach." 

"A  lucky  fellow,"  continued  the  colonel,  "to  have 
both  the  young  men  and  the  young  women  crazy  about 
him.     What  do  you  think  of  him,  Helen  ?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  he'll  do." 

"  Why,  I  thought,  Helen,  that  Andr6  would  just  be  a 
man  after  your  own  heart,"  said  the  colonel,  in  a  surprised 
tone. 

"After  Helen's  heart?  Why,  uncle  1"  jested  Isa- 
bella. 

"Bella,  there  are  some  things  which  it  is  not  pretty  to 
jest  about,"  said  Helen,  with  offended  dignity. 

"Of  course  Helen  underccood  what  I  meant,"  said  the 
colonel,  who  was  not  a  very  keen  appreciator  of  a  joke. 
"  But  as  for  Andr6,  why  even  Arthur  Pemberton,  who,  I 
believe,  is  your  great  admiration,  Helen,  admire?  aim  to 
the  utmost,  if  one  may  judge  by  their  great  intimacy  on 
so  short  an  acquaintance." 

"  Arthur  Pemberton  is  the  most  splendid  man  I  know," 
said  Helen,  decidedly. 

The  colonel  opened  his  honest  eyes.     "  Well,  Helen, 
all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  I  have  no  objection  to  Arthur 
Pemberton  but  one,  an4  that  is  a  very  serious  one — I"^' 
not  believe  he  is  more  than  half  loyal." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  intention,  of  marrying  him,  uncle — ^nor 


pemberton; 
hI  of  marrying  ™e.     When  I  fall  in  love,  if  I  e^er  do,  it 
shall  be  with  a  thoroughly  loyal  ma^^. 

"  Arthur  Pemberton  is  as  true  and  honorable  am 

"'f;;„d  ve,,  I^bel,  I  would  rather  no.  --r  yo»^ak  in 
.ha.  way,"  rejoined  Colonel  Mnsgr^e  I.  ^^s^^ 

undervalue  the  great  vir.ue  and  "f"'  "'  'Xns  " 

in  tta  with  .he  ta.eM  rebeUo^hton  onan^^n^^  ^  ^^^^^^_ 

Isabella  made  no  7'y;^/"f/°™       „,  ^  Autumnal 

="'°;  "it:,  fte  li rghStempe^rr  of  the  Au«.mna, 
woods,  and    he  deugn  i-  ^^^^  ^^j.,  ,^^y 

r^at*  fte*::.:^  o^MrpLberton,  With  whom  the 

young  ladies  were  residing. 


ii: :! 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


3ve,  if  I  ever  do,  it 

honorable  a  man  as 
3f  the  Crown!"  ex- 
Ing,  and  her  cheeks 

nirse  he  is,  sis— uncle 
Pemberton,  but  my- 

lot  hear  you  speak  in 
rave.      "It  seems  to 
t  of  loyalty— and  fall 
of  talking." 
ti  she  began  a  conver- 
auty  of  the  Autumnal 
;ure  of  the  Autumnal 
■hich  lasted  until  they 
erton,  with  whom  the 


-'/  CHAPTER  V.  •'       ■    ^* 

A  woman's  will.  '  .' 

He  shall  not  be  molested.    Mind,  I  say 
HeshaUnotI    Tut-*  (6.1    What  care  we  womeB 
.  For  that! 

Mrs   PEMBERTON-or  Rachel  Pemberton,  as  she  pre- 
ferred "to  be  called-was  a  widow  of  considerable  means 
and  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends      She  lived  with 
her  only  son,  Arthur  Pemberton,  in  a  large  brick  house 
which  stood  at  that  time  on  Chestnut  Street  above  Third 
Ithe  grounds,  pleasantly  laid  out,  extending  on  the  west 
and  in  the  rear  to  Dock  creek,  which  was  large  enough  for 
boating  and  skating.     Distantly  related  to  the  Grahams 
and  taling  a  warm  liking  to  them  on  acquamta«ce,  she 
had  proposed  to  the  young  ladies  to  board  ^h  her  jo 
long  L  they  should  decide  to  remain  m  Phdadelphia-a 
ather  indefinite  period.     Brought  from  their  school  at 
Bethlehem  before  the  war,  by  their  father,  who  was  an 
officer  in  the  British  service,  and  stationed  tempor^dy  m 
Philadelphia,  they  had  eagerly  embraced  Mrs.  Pember- 
ton's  offer.     They  had  never  known  a  mother  s  care,  and 
in  Mrs.  Pemberton  they  seemed  to  find  \^f,.j2 
at  their  father's  death,  which  occurred  at  the  breaking  out 
of  the  war,  they  had  felt  the  blow  softened  by  the  love 
and  tenderness  of  the  aged  lady  with  whom  their  lot  had 

'To:::rC:;^erahold  friend  of  their  fatl^. 
and  had  consented  to  act  as  their  guardian.  They  soon 
learned  to  love  him,  and  to  call  him  uncle-though  he 
really  was  not  related  to  them.  They  had  some  property 
-not  very  much,  but  ample  for  their  personal  support- 
they  were  connTicted  through  their  mother,  not  only,  as 


<^ 


j^  PEMBERTON  j 

we  have  said,  with  the  Pembertons,  but  with  other  of  the 
old  Quaker  families  of  the  city,  and  were  thus  as  advan- 
tageously situated  as  two  orphaned  girls  could  well  be. 

They  were  beautiful  girls,  or  rather,  women.  Fmely 
•  formed,  clear-skmned,  intelligent,  gay,  and  high-sp.r.ted^ 
Isabella  with  darleyes  and  dark  brdwn  hau-Helen  with 
blue  eyes  and  gold-brown  curls ;  the  first  calm,  self-po.sed 
and  equable;  the  latter  more  impulsive-more  a  creature 
of  the  emotions  and  the  passions.  Tl^  one  might  be 
called  the  more  queenly  and  charming,  |ie  other  the  more 
spirited  and  fascinating.  Both  were  among  the  most  be- 
witching women  of  a  city,  whose  belles  mf^Vff  F^ge. 
Mrs.  John  Adams,  termed  "a  constell JiBn  of  beauties 

A  day  or  two  after  the  scenes  already  described,  the 
sisters  were  seated  in  a  little  sitting-roonia^ing  their 
chamber.  Helen  was  tossing  over  a  lot  W^d  letters- 
reading  a  few  lines  here  and  there,  and  commenting  on 
their  contents.   At  last  she  broke  out  in  9.  clear  and  ring- 

'"  "'Jmt  hear  this,  Bel  1  Now  I  want  to  read  you  what 
y(«i  wrote  me  about  Arthur  Pemberton,  when  I  ^^  at 
Bethlehem,  and  yotfhere  in  Philadelphia  on  a  v^sit 

"You  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  read  it,  Helen.     1 
think  I  can  remember  it  without  a  reading. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  I  must-in  fact,  I  want  to  refr^  W""^, 
memory,"  said  the  laughing  tease.     "  Just  li^^BHla : 

"« He-is  rather  tail-but  not  too  tall'— ("not  so  tall 
that  he  cannot  be  conveniently  kissed,"  interpolated 
rtd«)— 'his  features  #re  clearly  cut— his  eyes  a  bluish- 
grpLs  chin  dimpled-his  mouth  finely  foftned  '-(-just 
ripe  and  sweet  enough,"  again  interpolated  Helen-) 'and 

then—' "  ,.       .  . 

"Helen,  you  would  greatly  oblige  me  by  giving  me 
that  letter,"  interrupted  Isabella,  holding  out  her  hand. 


d 


he 


he 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


43 


:  with  other  of  the 
;re  thus  as  advan- 
could  well  be. 
,  women.     Finely 
and  high-spirited. 
I  hair — Helen  with 
St  calm,  self-poised 
e — more  a  creature 
rhe  one  might  be 
^e  other  the  more 
nong  the  most  be- 
ggfeipartial  judge, 
l^i  of  beauties." 
ady  described,  the 
lom  adjoining  their 
otW^S^  letters — 
id  commenting  on 
1  a  clear  and  ring- 

;  to  read  you  what 
on,  when  I  was  at 
Ilia  on  a  visit." 

read  it,  Helen.  I 
ding." 

to  refresh  dj^own 
'  Just  li^^^la :" 
all'— ("not  so  tall 
ssed,"  interpolated 
—his  eyes  a  bluish- 
lelyfoimed'— ("just 
ilated  Helen— )' and 

e  me  by  giving  me 
ding  out  her  hand,    . 


"  Indeed  I  could  not  think  of  such  a  thing.  Why,  it 
is  the  very  treasure  of  all  my  collection.  Let  me  proceed 
— where  did  I  leave  off?  oh,  yes — " 

"  '  And  to  crown  all ' — ("  of  course ;  that  is  very  well 
said,  to  crown  all  j  where  should  it  be  if  no^Qn  his  crown  ?") 
— '  and,  to  crown  all,  the  finest  head  of  hair  I  ever  saw— 
a  light,  shining  auburn,  negligently  tied,  and  waving 
down  the  back.  Loose  flowed  the  soft  redundance  of  his 
hair.'  " 

"  Helen,  you  are  too  bad— it  is  shameful !  "  exclaimed 
her  sister,  her  face  a  crimson,  and  making  a  successful 
dash  for  the  letteri^  which  she  crammed  into  her  bosom. 

Helen  made  a  counter-dash  to  recover  it.  Isabella  ran 
around  the  room — getting  behind  chairs,  jumping  upon  a 
sofa,  and  making  a  gallant  running  fight  for  the  vexatiotis 
and  precious  document.  ^ 

Knock  !  knock !  knock  I 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself,  Helen  ?  You  make 
so  much  noise  that  some  olfc  has  been  knocking  at  the 
door  unheard  for  the  last  ten  minutes." 

"Who  began  it?"  said  Helen,  defiantly— smoothing 
her  ruffled  plumage.  ♦ 

Knock  !  knock !  knock ! 

"Coming!"  cried  Isabella,  smoothing  her  hair  with 
her  han^,  and  going  to  the  door. 

Opening  it,  there  stood  Fox,  the  old  negro  of  the  house. 

"  Miss  Bella,  an  old  Quaker  gemman  of  de  Friendly 
persuasion  is  down  in  de  parlor,  waiting  for  to  see  de 
young  wimmen  by  de  name  of  Graham." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Williams,  Bel,  by  all  that  is  good,"  said 
Helen,  who  was  listening.  "  Nq  use  in  fixing  any  mon> 
for  him — let  us  go  down  at  once.  Tell  him  we  are  com- 
ing, Foxey." 

They  found  Seth  in  the  parlor.    After  their  mutoally 


•i  /I 


^  pemberton; 

warm  greetings,  Seth  entered  at  once  on  the  object  of  his 
rr    Lieutenlnt  Morris  was  doing  very  w.U  mdeed- 
b^t  the  British  provost,  Captain  Cunningham  had  -cer^ 
tained,  in  some  way,  that  an  American  officer  was    ymg 
Hhe  house,  had  visited  him,  declared  that  he  wa.  plenty 
well  enough  to  move,  and  was  about  to  carry  him  off- 
d  her  to  the  hospiul.  or  to  that  den  of  horrors  Walnu 
Street  prison.     It  was  only  by  threatenmg  him  with  the 
fXatl  of  Colonel  Musgrave,  Seth  said,  that  he  could 
obtain  a  respite  until  the  afternoon. 

..  I  did  not  like  to  mention  your  names,  said  betn, 
o  and  yet  I  am  afraid  that  Colonel  Musgrave  may  hear  of 
the  mitter  from  that  brutal  captain,  and  say  he  knows 
nothing  about  the  lefttenant." 

.«p|hapswe  had  better  write  to  ^^^"^^  ^^^\^'^^ 
lect  "said  Isabella  to  her  sistor ;  "  and  yet  he  w.U  wonder 
S  we  said  nothing  about  the  lieutenant  when  he  called 

for  us  at  Mr.  Williams's."  „  ^  ,  •    f„,  « 

"^e    it  is  awkward."  replied  Helen.     "But  '  in  for  a 

penny  i^  or  a  pound.'     Cunningham  shall  not  have  himl 

Sd^ou  find  Captain  Andr.,  if  I  should  give  you  a  note 

".^\:Cn":r:?tlttheycallaidecam^.andaIong 
with  General  Grey.  I  think  I  know  the^oung  ma^ 
rather  good-looking,  is  he  not?  dark-coniflte«te.?  brown 
eyes?  almost  always  smiling?"  T^abella— 

"A    Drettv    good    description."    laughed    Isabella 
.thoV-'     n  aWr  to  her  sister)  "hardlyup  to  your 

stindafd.  I  suppose,  sis.     Helen.  -l\y°- ^f^^^j^^f  ^^ 

For  answer,  Helen  opened  the  writing-desk  attached 
a  large  mahogany  book-case,  and  wrote  as  follows . 

..  Helen  Graham's  compliments  to  Captain  Andr6  and 
would  be  grateful  if  the  captain  coulddo  her  a  service.   A 


it 
k 
li 

w 
A 

ui 
in 
ra 
hi 

I 

fe 

hi 

fo 

ar 

sh 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


45 


n  the  object  of  his 
fcry  woll  indeed — 
ingham,  had  ascer- 
n  officer  was  lying 
.  that  he  was  plenty 
to  carry  him  off — 
of  horrors,  Walnut 
ining  him  with  the 
t  said,  that  he  could 

names,"  said  Seth, 
usgrave  may  hear  of 
,  and  say  he  knows 

ancle  upon  the  sub- 
d  yet  he  will  wonder 
nant  when  he  called 


en. 


'  But  '  in  for  a 
[» shall  not  have  him  1 
lould  give  you  a  note 

lidecamps,  and  along 
}w  the  young  man— 
k-coniple«ted?  brown 

laughed    Isabella— 
r)  "hardlyuptoyour 
11  you  write  to  him?' 
iting-desk  attached  to 
rote  as  follows : — 

:o  Captain  Andr6,  and 
Id  do  her  a  service.   A 


rel)el  lieutenant,  named  Morris,  is  lying  wounded  in  the 
house  of  Mr.  Seth  Williams,  the  bearer  of  this  note,  at 
Germantown.  Mr.  Morris  is  an  acquaintance  of  Miss 
Graham's,  and  she  wishes  him  paroled  at  once,  and  ex- 
changed as  soon  as  possible.  The  case  is  urgent,  as  Cap- 
tain Cunningham  insists  upon  taking  him  to  prison.  Ex- 
planations deferred  till  Captain  Andr6  next  visits  the  city." 

"Cold  and  formal  enough,"  said  Isabella,  after  reading 
it ;  «'  but  I  guess  it  will  work.  To  make  all  sure  however, 
let  me  now  write  a  note  to  Colonel  Musgrave,  to  be  de- 
livered if  necessary." 

Isabella's  note  also  written,  both  were  confided  to  Seth, 
with  instmctions  not  to  deliver  the  second  unless  Captain 
Andrd  could  not  be  found,  or  his  exertions  should  prove 
unavailing.  Then  Seth  mounted  his  steed,  and  departed 
in  high  good  humor.  As  he  rode  up  Fourth  Street,  as 
rapidly  as  his  old  horse  could  well  go,  he  murmured  to 
himself — 

"  Now,  them  girls  may  be  Britishers— -but  they're  what 
I  call  clear  grit.  That  Helen  in  particular,  is  one  of  those 
females  which  take  a  man — I  mean  s^yaung  man — clean  off 
his  feet.  Let's  see  what  this  Captain  Andry  will  say.  As 
for  the  lefttenant,  he's  gone  already,  hook  and  line,  rope 
and  bucket— any  fool  can  see  that.  But  he's  a  rebel,  and 
she's  a  Britisher— perhaps  a  tory..    Ah,  well,  well,  well  1 " 


PEMBERTON 


f 

fc 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WISSAHICKON. 

All  noble  soul,  are  ki.u!rcd.    Through  the  ban. 
•        OfComUry  and  ofScctlhcy  shake  warm  handfc 
And  even  ./cr  the  yawui..«  chasn.»  wide 
Of  intervening  Centuries,  ihey  send 
Their  message*  of  friendship  and  of  cheer. 

SEVERAL  weeks  have  elapsed  since  the  events  narrated  in 
our  Lt  chapter,  and  the  British  army  is  no  longer  at  Ger- 
Tntwn      See  ng  th.  danger  of  dividing  his  forces,  and 
betg  Inxious  to  put  himself  in  a  position  where  he  could 
S  detach  a  large  body  to  reduce  the  American  fortifi- 
"uons  on  the  DeLare,  Sir  WilH-  Howe  hf  'uarc^^^^^^ 
one  fine  morning  to  the  outskirts  of  Philadelphia     There 
he  had  erected  a'line  of  fortifications,  -tending  from  the 
Delavare  to  what  is  now  called  Fairmount  on  the  Schuyl- 
Sll.  -d  then  felt  himself  perfectly  secure  from  any  further 
audacious  attempts  at  surpnsal.  ^, a  i,n^  worked 

Tae  note  borne  by  Seth  to  Captain  Andr6  had  worked 
like  a  rharm.     Lieutenant  Morris  had  not  only  been  pa- 

otd  but™  once  exchanged.     And  as  a  few  weeks  had 
tnSe  a  great  difference  in  his  condition,  he  had  already 

"\twttThrniorningof  one  of  those  beautiful  da^ 
wWch  crown  with  a  halo  of  glory  the  American  Autumn 
That  a  party  of  four  equestrians  were  preparing  to  set  out 
from  the  house  of  Mrs  Pemberton.     The  usual  htt  e  crowd 
hTcollec'd  around  to  seethe  ladies  mount-for  when 
^U  no    everybody  stop  and  turn  to  see  a  young  lady  on 
Wback?-and.  amid  laughter  and  gay  jests,  the  cava- 
ie^hafmade  k  knee  for  their  fair  companions,  and 
prceSlem  in  the  saddle.     There  were  but  two^ou^-" 
Lbella  and  Arthur  Pemberton,  Helen  and  Captam  Andre. 


w 

1. 

St 

u 
h 

V 
D. 

t 
V 

\ 
t 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


4T 


N. 

the  bart 
■m  handf> 

le 


e  events  narrated  in 
is  no  longer  at  Ger- 
ding  his  forces,  and 
tion  where  he  could 
;he  American  fortifi- 

Howe  had  marched 
hiladelphia.     There 

extending  from  the 
lount  on  the  Schuyl- 
;ure  from  any  further 

ri  Andr6  had  worked 

i  not  only  been  pa- 

as  a  few  weeks  had 

tion,  he  had  already 

those  beautiful  days 
e  American  Autumn, 

preparing  to  set  out 
The  usual  little  crowd 
lies  mount— for  when 

see  a  young  lady  on 
d  gay  jests,  the  cava- 
"air  companions,  and 
irere  but  two  couples — 
:n  and  Captain  Andr6. 


Tine  riding  attire  of  the  ladies  was  not  very  unlike  that 
wliich  is  worn  at  present.  The  gentlemen  wore  the  long 
hLhes  reaching  iP  the  ankle  and  lined  w.th  broad 
siripcs  of  leather,  called  Cherry  Vall.es,  which  were  of  en 
\J\  for  riding  at  that  day  in  order  to  dispense  yith  the 
hiKh  boots,  which  were  heavy  and  clumsy. 

.'  Where  is  Prince?"  said  Helen,  after  gathermg  up  her 
reins;  and  she  blew  a  silver  hunting  whistle  which  hung 

around  her  neck. 

«  Now  Helen,"  said  Isabella-"  let  me  entreat  you  not 
to  take  that  dog.  Prince  is  growing  old  and  heavy,  and 
we  shall  have  a  pretty  long  ride  to-day." 

"  Yes  Miss  Helen,"  added  Arthur  Pemberton,  I  agree 
with  your  sister.  Prince,  before  the  day  is  done,  would 
thank  you  for  letting  him  remain  at  home." 

.<  Just  as  you  say,"  replied  Helen.     "  See  how  amiable 

I  am,  Captain."  .  ,, 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  are  a  perfect  paragon  of  amiability, 

returned  Andri,  smiling. 

-  What  a  pity  that  none  of  the  rest  of  the  party  could 
go,"  said  Isabella,  addressing  Andr6.  "What  is  in  the 
wind.  Captain?"  , 

"  I  see  that  Foxey's  largest  flag  is,  for  one  thing,  re- 
plied  Andr6  evasively,  looking  up  at  the  top  of  Mrs.  Pem- 
berton's  house,  on  which  a  large  British  flag  was  streaming 

from  a  flag-staff.  , 

"Why  Foxey,"  continued  he,  turning  to  the  negro, 
who  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  "you  have  your  largest  flag 

out  to-day."  ,        , 

"Yes,  Massa  Ander,  old  Foxey  knowed  you  uns  were 

goin'  horseback  to-day.     He  allers  hang  out  de  big  flag 

on -de  great  occasums. 

"You  evaded  Bella's  question,"  said  Helen,  as  they 

mo^ed  off  at  a  gentle  pace,  or  rack,  as  it  is  often  termed. 


A»    ,  PEMnERTON ; 

i'  Yes  I  clitl ;  there  were  so  many  standing  by.  lUit  the 
officers  c'ouUl  not  go,  as  they  happen  to  be  on  .erv..  c  .o- 
.hv  and  the  ladies  do  not  care  to  go  without  the.r  escorts. 
Mils  Franks  threatened  to  go  till  the  very  last,  but  even 
her  love  of  fun  could  not  keep  her  up  to  It." 

As  they  rode  out  Fourth  street,  then  only  sprinkled  with 
houses,  and  unpaved  like  all  of  the  streets  at  that  time,  a 
small  crowd  attracted  their  attention.  It  was  gathered 
around  one  of  the  street  musicians  of  the  day-a  negro 
with  what  WPS  called  a  banjo,  a  kind  of  guitar  made  of  a 
gourd,  who  was  singing  a  popular  song  in  his  rude  dialect, 
apparently  to  the  great  delight  of  the  listeners. 

It  wxs  the  fashion  at  that  time  for  the  ladies  to  wear  the 
hair  very  high,  somewhat   in  the  style  «/ ^J^^ .  l^'"^'!""^ 
rolls  of  the  present  day,  though  a  great  ^leal  higher.      1  he 
fashion  began  in  fact  with  rolls,  over  which  the  hair  wa^ 
combed  back,  but  these  were  su,>erseded  by  cushions,  and 
artificial  curled  work,  which  was  often  sent  out  to  the  ba  - 
ber  to  be  dressed,  like  a  wig.  while  the  fair  owner  re- 
mained at  home.     The  gentlemen  of  that  tm.e  like    he 
gentlemen  of  this  and  all  times,  were  much  given  to  sat.ru- 
fng  these  extravagances  of  the  more  beautiful  sex  and  with 
iust  as  much  effect  as  at  the  present  day;  and  some  wi 
had  composed  the  song  which  the  negro  was  singing,  and 
which,  in  good  English,  would  read   somewhat  as  fol- 
lows : — 

O^ve  Chloe  a  bmhel  of  honehair  and  wool, 
()f,pasie  .-ind  pomatum  a  pound, 
Ten  yards  "f  guy  ribbon  to  deck  her  .weet  skull. 
And  gauze  to  encompass  It  round. 

•■  Ut  her  flags  fly  behind  for  a  yard  at  the  least. 

l.et  her  curls  meet  just  under  her  chin, 
Ut  iliose  curls  be  supported,  to  keep  up  the  jest,  ^ 

With  an  hundred,  instead  of  one  pin. 


nding  by.  lUit  the 
()  be  oil  scrvi<  e  to- 
ithout  their  escorts. 

very  last,  but  even 
to  it." 

only  sprinkled  with 
reels  at  that  time,  a 
1.  It  was  gathered 
f  the  day— a  negro 
of  guitar  niatle  of  a 
{ in  his  rude  dialect, 
listeners. 

lie  ladies  to  wear  the 
:  of  the  pompadour 
It  deal  higher.     The 

which  the  hair  was 
led  by  cushions,  and 
1  sent  out  to  the  bar- 

thc  fair  owner  re- 
f  that  time,  like  the 
Tiuch  given  to  satiriz- 
jautiful  sex.  and  with 
t  day ;  and  some  wit 
gro  was  singing,  and 
id   somewhat  as  fol- 

and  wool, 
r  tweet  skull, 


I  at  the  leait, 
chin, 

:p  up  the  jest, 
pin. 


OR,   ONK   HUNURED   YKAkS  AGO.  ^ 

"  Let  her  r,wn  1.0  liKked  up  |„  ,hr  hip  on  Mch  »ia, 
{>hni-,|„„hinl,  f,„,„^,i,||,.,rl„j„mp,  :      1- 

Aruli.,kcl*il,.,wc.t.:r«mrct.„n,,|ct„rbrabri<l«.  '    :- 

I*t  tJia  torlt-cuucr  uuke  hor  a  bump.  • 

"  Thiu  (Inl.hed  In  ta*te,  whilo  „n  LI.I..C  you  gai, 

V'Hl  m.y  l..ka  the  dear  charnar  for  lif^  ■ 
B.It  i..v.r  nndrcM  h«r-f„r,  out  .,f  her  »tayi. 

Vi-u'll  liiid  y.ju  have  lu»t  half  y„iir  wifu  |  "• 

As  our  party  ro-lchy,  the  gentlemen  h.-xlf-ha]tcd  to  hV 
ten,  but  Helen  ex.  l.iimod  impatiently.  "It  is  only  that 
odious  song  again.  I  wonder  that  any  gentle.uan  could 
write  It,  or  that  any  geiitleman  can  listen  to  it  " 

"What  was  that  you  wer,.  sayi„g  about  a.niability,  a 
little  while  ago?  '■  asked  I'einberton,  demurely 

said  Heien''"^''  °"^  '^'"'^'  ^"'^  ''"^"''''^  "  another," 

'•I  quite  agree  with  you  as  to  that,"  replied  Pemberton 
smih..g.     -MJutwhat  do  you  thii.k  of  the  sign  on  th^ 
tavern  there,     poiiuing  to  a  representation  of  a  man  carry- 
ing  his  Wife  on  his  back.  ^ 

"What  does  that  mea>i?-  inquired  Isabella. 

"  Read  the  legend  beneath,"  said  Pemberton-"  <  The 
man  loaded  with  mischief.'  " 

"It  shoi.ld  read,  '  The  man  in  his  proper  place  as  a 
l>eastofl>urdenr>  commented  Helen,  sanitic^y.  '"For 
my  part  I  thmk  that  all  that  men  are  good  for,  is  to  pro- 

sT  mT'7  TX  ,7"^''™'^"*  ^°^  ^°'"^"-     I^°»''  you  think 
so,  Mr.  Audrti?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  add  a  sentence-and  aJl 
hat  women  are  good  for,  is  to  provide  homes  and  love 
lur  men. 

"I    agree  with    you    fully.-    said    Isabella  over   her 
shoulder-she  and  Pemberton  were  in  advance. 

a  century  ^  ^^^'  ^"^  "^  """  '"""J  »«"'' '»  'he  cour.e  of  about 

5  *^ 


■5 


m 


5° 


PEMBERTON  ;   , 

"Oh  well  what  is  the  use  of  quarrelling?"  cried 
Hel=°  "hate  quarrelling,  and  like  .o  h»-°y°;™ 
"at      If  .hat  is  not  being  thoroughly  auuahle,  I  don  t 

"-r^tr^L  .arrae.s,"  said  Pe"''-"-  "  ^^rnd'! 
not  as  many  lomrging  in  front  as  "»-'> '"f-^^^^r" 
do  no,  see  the  Hessians  a,  *- -^-^-^e^:  ,,  .he 
..  Ah.  that  is  where  ^<'f--f  J"=  ,f  „„,  ,„  get 
It'uU^gT"'!  do*ad.ireSes  sjmueh.  si^ce 
S«. hose  pS;  fellows  huddled  into  the  earth  a.  Ger- 

""^"T  Helen  is  half  arebel  now."  said  Pemberton ;  ".hat 

-4rir;rerrs-r;^.r^^^^^^^^^^ 

t^^"^-'  .      M        v=^  Wolpn      "Mr.  Morris 

«  That  is  not  surprisir^g,"  rephed  Hekn.        ^^^ 
is  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar.     I  do  not  thmk  I  have       n 

"Let  me  see.     since     ^mcc  yu       ^    ^^ 
General  Knyphausen  a.  Mr  Bingharn  s 

ru,:':airBe:idZ  ^ever  «irt.  Did  you  ever  see 
■"^."n'e^r's!:;^:: 'alything  else,"  «plied  Penrher- 
•°°:nur"l;n,ber.onl"  exelainred  Helen,  her  face  eo.or- 
'"irthLn'r-is  hardly  fair.  Arthur."  said  Isabella. 

*Tfo™  up-beg  f°'«i— -"'f^T'lrLlt'l 
Pembcrton.  ^^'"^^-J^^^^^IZ:. 
came  in  so  well.     In  tact,  u  *  »." 


M.:  - 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


51 


of  quarrelling?"  cried 
d  like  to  have  -.ny  own 
aughly  amiable,  I  don't 

Pemberton.  "  There  are 
s  usual,  to-day.  And  I 
ncampment  either." 
rs  have  gone— with  the 
'  I  hope  they  will  all  get 
re  battles  so  much,  since 
i  into  the  earth  at  Ger- 

,"  said  Pemberton;  "that 
:  I  could  never  do,  con- 
some  little  good  left  in 

ied  Helen.  "Mr.  Morris 
;  do  not  think  I  have  seen 
;e,when  shall  I  say,  Bel?" 
you  had  that  flirtation  with 

igham's." 

d  1  I  don't  fancy  gentle- 
on  their  bread  with  their 
r  flirt.     Did  you  ever  see 

ng  else,"  replied  Pember- 

limed  Helen,  her  face  color- 

.ir,  Arthur,"  said  Isabella, 

;ss— plead  guilty,"  replieci 
I  I  only  said  it  because  it 
■kind  of  said  itself.     I  know 


-not  even  with  Major  Tarle- 


'and 


very  well  you  do  not  flirt- 
ton." 

"I  detest  Major  Tarleton  1  "  exclaimed  Helen; 
you  know  it." 

"Hush!  hush!"  said  Isabella.  "You  know  the  old 
saying,  '  Speak  of  Satan,  and  l:e  will  appear ! '  " 

They  were  approaching,  by  this  time,  one  of  the  British 
redoubts,  which  commanded  the  road.  A  number  of 
dragoons  were  scattered  around,  while  a  rather  short  but 
somewhat  heavily-built  officer,  with  a  swarthy  complexion, 
was  seated  on  his  horse,  and  conversing  with  the  com- 
mander of  the  outpost. 

"Good-morning,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  cried  he,  as 
they  rode  up  :  "  you  are  bound  for  a  ride,  I  see." 

After  due  salutations,  Tarleton  continued.  "Why, 
Andr6,  where  are  your  regimentals?  Are  you  not  a  little 
afraid  to  venture  beyond  our  lines  without  them?" 

"  I  am  a  go.»i  deal  more  afraid  to  venture  as  far  as  we 
are  going,  with  them,"  replied  Andr6,  smiling.  "Some 
of  the  colonists,  you  know,  grow  rabid  at  the  sight  of  a 
red  coat ;  and  they  might  make  it  dangerous,  not  only 
for  me,  but  for  my  company.  I  was  a  little  puzzled,  too, 
what  color  to  substitute.  Pemberton  here  can  wear  blue, 
but  I  don't  like  it.  Green  is  the  refugee,  and  also  the 
French  color.  Brown  is  rather  dull.  And  so  I  have 
chosen  gray,  as  you  see,  which  suits  admirably  in  one  re- 
spect, as  I  am  in  Grey's  corps  !  " 

"  I  hope,  then,  you  either  have  a  pass,  or  else  will  not 
meet  any  of  Lee's  or  McLane's  light  horse,  for  they  are 
the  rabidest  kind  of  rebels." 

"Oh,  we  are  all  right  in  that  respect,  Major,"  said 
Pemberton.     "  Would  you  like  to  see  the  rebel  pass?  " 

"I  never  object  to  seeing  anythingj'y^jeplied  Tarleton; 
"  it  may  prove  useful  some  day  "— tur^  his  small  and 


in 


■    -i**  tU  «■""■*■*»»*■ 


m 


PEMBERTON  ; 


piercing  black  eyes  upon  the  paper.     "  That  is  a  curiosity 
In  the  way  of  a  pass."     He  read  it  aloud :         ^ 

..  Allow  Miss  Helen  Graham,  and  not  more  than  twelve 

r  K  n  Is   cither  in  or  out  of  military  costume,  to  pass 

r;'Se^t;t  Wissahickon,in  the  neighborhood  of 

Cresheim  creek. 

"George  Washington, 

"Commander-in-Chief." 

■    ..  That  is  the  first  tii^  I  ever  saw  the  old  surveyor's  sig- 

inat  lb  u  c  «  ^ouid  not  some  of  their 

nature,"  contimved  r^^^^^^^^  ^, /j^^,  Helen,  you  seem 

tZ  fXr^rncrat  the  rebel  headquarters.'- 

"Miss  Helen  generally  is,  wherever  she  is  known,     re- 

^""'BttTpu-les  me  how  she  can  be  known  there,"  con- 
tinned  Tarleton,  as  if  nothing  ought  to  puz.le  him 

"I  think  you  will  have  to  stay  puzzled  a  little  while, 
Maior  "  Iw  Helen,  rather  coldly.  "  There  is  something 
foryou  I  exercise  your  vaunted  penetration  upon.  I 
thought  you  always  knew  pretty  much  everything 

"  fthink  I  shall  be  able  when  I  see  you  next  to  tell 

T  t    ,   u"    reolied   Tarleton,  a  little   nettled. 

rotco„tTfUl;:f  Washing.;,,  one.  happened 

„  1  yorw  h  hUMd  glass,  a.  .wen.y  miles'  distance 

I  shall  understand  it  all.     Valor  always  is  the  devoted 

""c::e,7nnln-if  ^  stop  to  listen  to  Major 
,ar,L.'«  w  or  co.pl™;-.;e  *- -;  ^ 

rV^dTSue?'  reioted^len,  giving  her  hor.  .he 
whip. 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


•53 


'  That  is  a  curiosity 
ad: 

ot  more  than  twelve 
ary  costume,  to  pass 
le  neighborhood  of 

;  Washington, 
mmander-in-Chief. 

le  old  surveyor's  sig- 
ild  not  some  of  their 
[iss  Helen,  you  seem 
el  headquarters." 
r  she  is  known,"  re- 

I  known  there,"  con- 
;o  puzzle  him. 
izzled  a  little  while, 
«'  There  is  something 
penetration  upon.     I 
:h  everything." 
see  you  next  to  tell 
on,  a  little   nettled, 
igton  once  happened 
'enty  miles'  distance, 
dways  is  the  devoted 

p  to  listen  to  Major 

we  shall  never  get   to 

'  the  Major  is  famous 

giving  her  horse  the 


"If  you  meet  any  of  McLane' •  t.ien  near  German- 
town,  tell  them  I  am  coming  up  tliat  way  in  an  hour 
or  so,"  cried  Tarleton,  as  they  rode  on. 

"We  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Isabella. 

"  Now  for  a  sharp  trot — or  shall  it  be  a  fast  canter?" 
cried  Helen, 

"Can  these  pacers  trot?"  asked  Andrd,  of  Pember- 
ton. 

"I  see  you  have  had  to  come  to  ihc  pacers,"  laughed 
Isabella". 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Andr6.  "It  is  too  much 
like  torment  to  ride  an  English  trotter  at  his  slowest 
trot,  in  company  with  one  of  your  American  pacers. 
Besides,  I  admit  there  is  no  gait  so  favorable  for  con- 
versation as  the  pace,  when  you  wish  to  get  along  a 
little  faster  than  a  walk." 

"A  perfectly  gaited  horse,  according  to  our  Phila- 
delphia ideas,"  said  TJemberton,  "should  be  a  fast 
walker,  a  gentle  pa'ci.  i  square,  honest  trotter,  and 
easy  at   the   canter  ^     i  run.  .  Now  here  is  Selim, 

who  is  perfect."  He  .  .  the  neck  of  the  beautiful 
chestnut  he  bestrode — gentle  and  quiet  as  a  lamb,  but, 
at  the  touch  of  the  whip  or  spur,  full  of  fire  and  spirit. 

"Is  that  the  horse  that  is  fond  of  liquor?"  inquired 
Andr6. 

"That  is  hardly  a  fair  statement.  He  will  turn  off 
his  single  cup  of  beer  or  spirits  with  anybody — ^but  if 
you  hand  him  a  second  cup,  he  will  let  it  fall,  and 
place  one  of  his  forefeet  upon  it.  He  is  quite  a  tem- 
perance horse,  you  see." 

"Let  us  be  off— let  us  have  a  canter,"  cried  Isa- 
bella. 

The  road  was  good,  the  morning  air  bracing,  and 
with  Helen  and  Andr6   in  the  advance,  the  miles  flew 


5-t 


PEMBERTON  J 


by  ill  the  ccstacy  of  rapid  motion.  When  they  pulled 
up,  they  were  at  the  top  of  a  long  hill,  and  entering 
Germantown. 

"Was  not  that  glorious?"   exclaimed  Helen,  wiping 

her  heated  face. 

"  I  call  that  the  poetry  of  motion— even  more  than 
dancing,"  replied  Andre.  "A  good  horse,  a  fine  day, 
and  a  beautiful  lady— what  more  does  a  man  need  to  be 

perfectly  happy?" 

"  Did  you  see,  Helen,  how  ruined  all  the  country- 
seats  looked?"  questioned  Isabella,  riding  up  with  her 
companion.  "Is  it  not  shameful— fruit-trees  cut  down, 
fences  and  gates  demo'ished,  the  beautiful  grounds  de- 
stroyed, and  many  of  the  houses  themselves  with  their 
shutters  torn  off,  and  doors  broken  in.  Captain  Andr6, 
why  do  you  allow  such  things?" 

"  It  is  difficult  to  prevent  it.  Miss  Graham.  Our  gen- 
erals and  their  officers  do  what  they  can ;  but  war  is 
destruction,  not  peace,  you  know." 

"And  the  rebels  have  brought  it  all  upon  themselves," 
added  Helen. 

"A  truce,"  cried  Pemberton.  "You  know  that  Cap- 
tain Andr6  and  myself  never  talk  upon  these  questions, 
except  upon  grave,  set  occasions.  To-day  we  have  come 
out  for  a  good  time— and  intending  to  have  a  little  oasis 
of  peace    in    the  very  midst    of   this  cruel   desert   of 

war." 

Andrd's  face  beamed  upon  Pemberton.  "  Pemberton 
and  I  have  agreed  to  disagree  upon  this  question,"  he 
said.  "We  know  we  are  both  thoroughly  honest  and 
sincere  in  our  convictions  of  duty.  I  count  it  among 
my  sorrows,  that  I  cannot  convince  him  that  loyalty  is 
the  truest  policy  for  the  colonies.  But  we  can  and  do 
both  of  us  agree  in  this— to  do  all  tha.t   lies  in  our 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


"9^' 


Hien  they  pulled 
ill,  and  entering 

;d  Helen,  willing 

-even  more  than 
horse,  a  fine  day, 
a  man  need  to  be 

all  the  country- 
ding  up  with  her 
lit-trees  cut  down, 
itiful  grounds  de- 
nselves  with  their 
Captain  Andr6, 

traham.     Our  gen- 
can  ;    but  war  is 

upon  themselves," 

ou  know  that  Cap- 
in  these  questions, 
-day  we  have  come 

I  have  a  little  oasis 
is  cruel   desert   of 

ton.  "  Pemberton 
this  question,"  he 

roughly  honest  and 

I  count  it  among 

him  that  loyalty  is 

But  we  can  and  do 

II  that   lies  in  our 


power  to  mitigate  the  bitterness  and  cruelty  and  horror 
of  the  war." 

"What  was  that  story  Ferguson  was  telling  you  the 
other  day?" 

"Only  that  he  could  have  shot  Washington  with  his 
rifle,  at  the  recent  battle." 

"Why  did  he  not  (io  it,  then?"  said  Isabella.  "That 
sounds  like  boasting." 

"Ferguson  is  not  a  boaster,"  replied  Andr6;  "he  is 
the  best  shot  in  the  army,  if  not  in  the  world.  He  says 
that  he  did  not  know  it  was  Washington — and  either  this, 
or  because  he  dislikes  the  practice  of  singling  out  officers, 
or  something  else,  he  cannot  now  explain  or  understand 
what,  kept  him  from  doing  it." 

"I  know,"  said  Isabella.  "It  was  the  same  reason 
that  prevented  that  Indian  chief  from  shooting  him,  when 
Braddock  was  defeated  at  Fort  Duquesne." 

"What  nonsense!  "  exclaimed  Helen,  "Bella,  I  de- 
clare you  are  fast  growing  to  be  as  bad  a  rebel  as  Pember- 
ton. As  if  the  Almighty,  who  has  commanded  us  to  obey 
the  king  and  those  in  authority,  would  shield  the  bosom 
of  a  rebel." 

Pemberton  made  haste  to  speak.  "What  of  those 
breech-loaders  that  Ferguson  has  had  his  riflemen  armed 
with  ?    Do  they  work  ? ' ' 

"  He  says  so,"  replied  Andr6.  "  He  says  his  men  can 
fire  six  shots  in  a  minute.  Some  of  the  officers  think  that 
in  a  few  years  *  Brown  Bess '  will  be  thrown  aside,  and  the 
whole  army  armed  with  these  breech-loading  rifles." 

"Doubtful,"  said  Pemberton;  "you  have  too  many 
martinets  in  the  service  for  that." 

Stopping  for  a  moment,  but  not  dismounting,  at  Seth 
Williams's  door,  and  passing  some  kind  words  with  the 
worthy  dame — Seth  himself  not  being  at  home — they  cant- 


5« 


PEMBERTON  J 


!  I 


ered  on,  past  Chew's  house,  in  its  blackened  desolation, 
and  up  to  Mount  Airy,  where  the  recent  battle  had  begun. 

«'  I  guess  we  shall  see  somebody  soon,"  said  Pemberton 
slyly  to  Helen.  "  I  have  seen  the  hoof-prints  of  McLane's 
cavalry  for  the  last  mile  or  two." 

«'  I'll  bet  you  a  sovereign  you  cannot  tell  the  hoof-prmts 
of  one  horse  from  another,  to  save  your  life.     Can  he, 

Captain?"  "  ,  .    , 

"I  expect  he  can.  A  troop  of  horse  leaves  a  number 
of  prints  together,  and  the  English  horses'  hoofs  are  larger 
than  the  American.  And  as  each  company  is  apt  to  have 
its  own  shoer,  and  it  is  sometimes  an  object  to  make  the 
shoe  so  that  its  print  can  be  distinguished,  you  can 
easily  see  that  Pemberton  may  be  right.     But  here  is 

Allen's  lane— " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  young 
American  officer,  who  with  half  a  dozen  troopers  emerged 
at  this  moment  from  the  lane.  A  glance  showed  that  it 
was  Lieutenant  Morris,  still  rather  pale,  and  with  his  left 
arm  in  a  sling,  but  seeming  not  much  the  worse  for  his  re- 
cent wound.  ,        ^      •      \ 

-Good  morning,  ladies.  Good  morning.  Cousin  Ar- 
thur. Good  morning.  Captain.-  I  am  eternally  indebted 
to  you  and  to  Miss  Helen.    You  got  the  pass  all  safely,  I 

^^''Yes,  and  here  is  the  precious  document,"  replied 
Helen      "  I  take  it  as  quite  a  compliment." 

"  I  thought  I  would  meet  you,  and  ride  up  with  you  as 
far  as  Mr.  Livezey's,  if  you  have  no  objections,"  said  the 

lieutenant.  ,  ^^ 

"  Indeed  we  shall  all  be  very  happy  to  have  your  com- 
pany,"  replied  Helen,  while  the  rest. gladly  assented. 
"  Come  around,  and  ride  on  my  right,  Mr.  Morns. 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


57 


ickened  desolation, 
It  battle  had  begun, 
n,"  so  id  Pemberton 
f.prints  of  McLane's 

t  tell  the  hoof-prints 
your  life.     Can  he, 

irse  leaves  a  number 
rses'  hoofs  are  larger 
tnpany  is  apt  to  have 
a  object  to  make  the 
tingui'^hed,  you  can 
right.     But  here  is 

ppearance  of  a  young 
zen  troopers  emerged 
lance  showed  that  it 
lale,  and  with  his  left 
1  the  worse  for  his  re- 

moming,  Cousin  Ar- 
im  eternally  indebted 
It  the  pass  all  safely,  I 

I  document,"  replied 

liment." 

id  ride  up  with  you  as 

1,  objections,"  said  the 

)py  to  have  your  com- 
rest  gladly  assented. 
;ht,  Mr.  Morris." 


Giving  a  brief  order  to  his  men  to  await  his  coming,  he 
spurred  to  the  side  of  Helen,  and  they  rode  on. 

"It  is  just  the  time  to  see  the  Wissahickon  in  its  robes 
of  glory,  Miss  Helen,"  said  he,  as  they  pulled  up  after  a 
gay  canter.     "  Have  you  ever  been  to  Cresheim  creek?" 

"  No,  but  I  have  been  down  near  the  Schuylkill." 

"Stop,"  cried  Isabella;  "  is  not  this  view  beautiful  ?" 

Through  a  gap  in  the  trees  they  looked  down  on  the 
valley  of  the  Wissahickon.  It  was  Indian  Summer,  and 
a  bluish  haze  was  spread  like  a  softening  veil  over  the 
whole  landscape.  The  trees  were  still  full  of  foliage — 
though  here  and  there  the  bright  and  glowing  crimsons 
had  deepened  into  rich  browns.  All  was  singularly  quiet, 
as  with  the  weird  quiet  of  a  dream — save,  at  intervals, 
was  heard  the  accordant  sound  of  a  distant  flail  on  some 
barn  threshing-floor. 

"  See  one  such  sight  as  this,  and-  die !"  enthusiasti- 
cally exclaimed  Isabella. 

"  I  have  a  friend,"  said  Andr6,  "  he  is  in  Lord  Howe's 
fleet,  who  always  hopes  to  die  far  out  at  sea.  He  is 
ever  quoting — 

" '  And  De,nth,  whenever  it  comes  to  me. 
In  calm  or  storm,  may  I  sink  to  rest, 
»     Rocked  by  the  waves  of  the  great,  strong  sea. 
And  coffined  for  aye  in  his  breast.' 

"  But  for  me  when  I  die,  I  should  like  to  have  my  last 
gaze  rest  on  such  dreamy  skies,  such  a  crimson  and  brown 
and  purple  earth  as  this." 

"Yd  make  me  melancholy,  with  all  this  talk  about 
dying,"  brol-e  in  Helen.  "Now,  I  say  that,  when  I  get 
married — ' ' 

But  a  general  laugh  spoiled  Helen's  speech. 

"When  you  get  married,  I  should  like  tx)  be  there  as 
groom — 's  man,"  said  Pemberton. 


■-■*  »!»r5  ji>fa«  1^  ^i!iiaKtJturJ^i^\L . 


0 


58 


PEMBERION  ; 


i; 


"  Please  put  your  words  a  little  closer  together,  Mr. 
Pemberton,"  returned  Helen,  with  an  air  of  mock  dig- 
nity. 

Soon  they  were  descending  a  rough,  rocky  road  into 
the  valley  of  the  Wissahickon,  Lieutenant  Morris  mani- 
festing great  concern  lest  Helen's  horse  should  stumble, 
while  Andr<§  smiled,  and  riding  in  advance  in  the  narrow 
road,  left  the  whole  care  of  the  young  lady  to  her  new 
escort. 

"This  is  like  the  primeval  forest,"  cried  Helen,  gazing 
with  admiring  awe  into  the  giant  woods  of  oak  and  chest- 
nut and  walnut  and  hickory  and  hemlock.  "We  might 
think  ourselves  out  in  the  savage  wilderness  here." 

"  Yes,  a  hundred  miles  at  least  from  any  crowded  city," 
echoed  Isabella,  enthusiastically. 

"  How  soon  do  we  come  to  your  Cousin  Livezey's,  Mr. 
Morris?"  asked  Helen. 

'There,  look  below  you,  over  that  piece  of  cleared  land 
— do  you  see  that  chimney?" 

"  You  surely  are  not  going  to  take  us  down  the  Mm- 
ney,  in  Santa  Clatis'  fashion?" 

Lieutenant  Mprris  laughed,  and  soon  a  turn  in  t  road 
brought  them  down  a  steep  hill  to  the  front  of  the  ^use. 
It  was,  as  usual  in  this  section,  of  stone,  two-storied  and 
double-fronted;  and  with  the  customary  covered  porch, 
with  its  two  short  side  benches,  before  the  main  door.  A 
wall  ran  before  the  house,  inclosing  a  little  garden,  and  in 
the  wall  was  an  aperture,  left  for  the  convenience  of  riders, 
to  aid  them  in  mounting  and  dismounting.  .  At  the  dis- 
tance of  about  a  hundred  feet  from  the  side  of  the  dwell- 
ing, ran  the  Wissahickon,  which  here  dashed  and  foamed 
over  a  dam,  erected  for  milling  purposes.  And  in  front 
of  the  house  stood  the  mill  itself,  with  its  first  story  on  the 
level  of  the  house,  and  its  third  on  that  of  the  hillside — 


OR,   ONE   IVJNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


59 


closer  together,  Mr. 
an  air  of  mock  dig- 

lugh,  rocky  road  into 
utenant  Morris  mani- 
horse  should  stumble, 
idvance  in  the  narrow 
)ung  lady  to  her  new 

"  cried  Helen,  gazing 
lods  of  oak  and  chest- 
:mlock.     "We  might 
derness  here." 
m  any  crowded  city," 

Cousin  Livezey's,  Mr. 

t  piece  of  cleared  land 

ke  us  down  the  -'.im- 

)on  a  turn  in  t  road 
he  front  of  the  ^use. 
itone,  two-storied  and 
imary  covered  porch, 
re  the  main  door.  A 
I  little  garden,  and  in 
convenience  of  riders, 
sunting.  .  At  the  dis- 
the  side  of  the  dwell- 
:e  dashed  and  foamed 
joses.  And  in  front 
h  its  first  story  on  the 
hat  of  the  hillside — 


obviating  the  necessity  of  hoisting  up  the  grain  which  was 
to  be  ground. 

Dismounting  and  entering  the  house,  Morris  and  Pem- 
bertou,  who  both  claimed  cousinship  with  the  owner,  in- 
troduced the  party  to  Mr.  Livezey  and  his  wife.  They 
also  were  "Friends" — or  "Quakers,"  as  the  "world's 
people"  irreverently  call  them — and  of  the  usual  hospitable 
and  kindly  Quaker  type.  The  room  into  which  the  visit- 
ors were  shown  was  simply  furnished,  but  the  thick  walls 
below  each  window  were  fashioned  into  seats,  and  covered 
with  cushions ;  and  in  a  comer  of  the  room  was  a  large 
East  India  lounge,  made  of  cane,  also  cushioned,  which 
pulled  out  creaking  to  afford  a  full-length  repose.  Helen 
threw  herself  upon  this  immediately,  for  it  was  a  new  piece 
of  furniture  to  her,  and  had  a  thought  of  Asian  skies 
about  it. 

In  a  few  moments  a  lunch  was  brought  in  by  their  kind 
hostess,  and  after  doing  this  justice,  Pemberton  proposed 
they  should  start  for  a  boat-ride  and  a  ramble.  As  they 
emerged  into  the  yard  again,  about  a  dozen  colonial  rifle- 
men in  their  green  and  fringed  hunting-shirts  were 
lounging  on  the  grass. 

"Why,  Morris,  is  there  any  danger?"  inquired  Pem- 
berton. 

"  No — your  pass  will  protect  you  from  any  of  our  scout- 
ing parties,  but  these  riflemen  of  Morgan's  have  been  de- 
tached to  scour  the  woods  between  Chestnut  Hill  and  the 
Schuylkill,  in  order  to  arrest  some  British  deserters  who 
are  reported  to  be  giving  the  farmers  considerable  trouble. 
Some  think  they  are  spies" — with  a  smile  toward  the 
British  officer — "but  tbe  more  reasonable  opinion  is  that 
they  are  deserters.  Spres  or  deserters,  however,  they  are 
uncommonly  fond  of  butter  and  milk  and  poultry,  and  oc- 
casionally even  a  cow  or  ox  disappears,  which,  considering 


f 


inciuired  Pem- 


••  I'Emberton; 

the  condition  of  our  own  commissariat,  is  a  thing  ntft  to 
be  tolerated." 

"  Has  Cousin  Thomas  been  troubled  ? 
berton. 

"  Not  before  a  night  or  two  ago,  when  they  broke  into 
his  mill,  and  carried  o'";  some  bags  of  flour. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  the  fellows  arc  at  all  dangerous," 
continued  the  lieutenant;  "hut  as  these  rangers  were 
about,  I  thought  I  miglit  as  well  introdui  e  you  to  them, 
and  let  them  sweep  through  the  woods  in  advance  of  you, 
as  they  go  down." 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you,  indeed,"  replied  Andr6. 
"  Our  pistols  are  in  our  holsters,  had  we  not  better  take 
them  with  us?" 

"I  think  there  can  be  no  need  of  that,"  said  Isabella. 
"  What  horrible  times  these  are,  when  we  cannot  take  a 
little  stroll  without  some  dreadful  weapon  or  other,  put- 
ting you  in  fear  of  your  life,  lest  it  should  go  off,  all  the 
time." 

"Of  course,  Miss  Graham,"  said  Andre,  "we  will  not 
take  them,  if  you  object ;  besides,  after  what  Mr.  Morris 
has  said,  and  following,  as  we  shall,  right  in  the  track  of 
these  brave  fellows,  I  see  no  necessity  for  doing  so.  Do 
you,  Pemberton?" 

"  I  am  for  risking  that  much  to  save  Miss  Graham  from 
annoyance." 

"  Do  you  not,  then,  go  along  with  us,  Mr.  Morris?" 
queried  Helen. 

"  I  regret  very  much  that  I  cannot,"  replied  he ;  "  but 
I  must  rejoin  my  men."  The  "regret"  and  "must" 
being,  in  truth,  mainly  based  upon  the  fact  that  Helen 
had  a  cavalier  engaged  already.  He  had  hoped  fervently 
— though,  as  he  knew,  rather  foolishly — that  it  would  be 
otherwise. 


ariat,  is  a  thing  ncft  to 

)led?  "  inciuircd  Pem- 

when  they  broke  into 
jf  flour. 

re  at  all  dangerous," 
as  those  rangers  were 
ntro(hi(  e  you  to  them, 
ods  in  advance  of  you, 

leed,"  replied  Andr6. 
ad  we  not  better  take 

f  that,"  said  Isabella. 
lien  we  cannot  take  a 
/eapon  or  other,  put- 
should  go  off,  all  the 

Andre,  "we  will  not 
after  what  Mr.  Morris 
,  right  in  the  track  of 
ity  for  doing  so.     Do 

ive  Miss  Graham  from 

ith  us,  Mr.  Morris?" 

5t,"  replied  he;  "but 
egret"  and  "must" 
the  fact  that  Helen 
e  had  hoped  fervently 
hly — that  it  would  be 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO.  |^ 

"I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,"  rejoined  Helen.  "Now, 
suppose  I  should  be  in  danger,"  continued  she,  with  a 
little  touch  of  that  coquetry  which  seemed  a  part  of  her 
very  make  and  nature,  "  you  would  not  be  near  to  afford 
me  any  assistance.  You  know  you  are  one*  of  ray 
knights." 

Helen  blamed  herself  at  once,  when  the  young  officer 
replied,  in  a  tone  whose  affected  pleasantry  could  not  con- 
ceal its  undertone  of  deep  feeling: — "Miss  Helen,  if  I 
thought  you  were  liable  to  the  least  shadow  of  danger,  I 
would  be  the  last  to  leave  you." 

"Well,"  said  Helen,  jestingly,  "  if  danger  appears,  I 
shall  blow  this  horn  of  mine  with  as  loud  and  shrill  a  blast 
as  that  of  Roland  at  Roncesvalles,  and  perhajjs  you  will 
hear  it  all  the  way  to  Germantown."  Saying  this,  she 
blew  her  hunting-whistle  till  Isabella  clapped  her  hands 
over  her  ears,  and  the  rough  riflemen  laughed  heartily. 

"Not  one  of  us.  Miss  Helen,"  cried  Andr^,  throwing 
himself  into  a  theatrical  attitude,  "but  will  rush  to  your 
rescue  when  we  hear  the  blast  of  that  wondrous  horn,  as 
Charlemagne  and  his  Paladins  rushed — or  should  have 
rushed — to  the  rescue  of  the  peerless  Roland." 

"  But  with  rather  better  success,  I  hope,"  replied  Helen, 
laughing. 

Morris  then  remounted  his  horse,  and,  making  him  cur- 
vet a  little — as  is  the  manner  of  young  gentlemen — cant- 
ered lightly  up  the  slope,  until  a  turn  of  the  road  concealed 
him  from  view.  The  riflemen,  with  a  sergeant  at  their 
head,  moved  off  Indian-file  around  to  the  back  of  the 
house,  and  up  a  wooded  hill  which  rose  immediately  be- 
hind it,  extending  their  line  to  sweep  the  forest.  While 
the  party  in  whom  we  are  more  immediately  interested, 
turned,  under  Pemberton's  guidance,  to  the  water-side  of 
the  house,  and  passing  through  a  neatly-kept  flower-garden, 
6 


6a 


PF.MnEKTON  ; 


prettily  terraced,  descended  a  flight  of  steps  to  a  spot  just 
above  tlie  dam,  wiiere  a  little  skitf  was  moored. 

Carefully  seating  tliemsclvcs  in  the  boat,  I'cmberton 
took  the  oars,  and  roweil  gently  up  the  pellucid  stream. 
It  was  now  about  noon,  antl  the  sun  shone  down  upon 
them  with  a  soft  but  not  unpleasant  splendor.  On  each 
side  the  high,  dark,  wooded  bills  were  drajjeil  with  the 
magnificent  hues  of  the  Autumn  sea.son — amphitheatres  of 
green  and  crimson,  and  brown  and  gold.  And  reflected 
in  the  hlill,  ^\M,!,y  «ater,  was  all  this  pomp  of  variegated 
glory. 

"This  is  magnificent  I  "  exclaimed  Andr«;,  enthusiasti- 
cally. "  The  old  world  has  nothing  to  show  like  this.  It 
is  the  gorgeous  splendor  of  an  Indian  princess." 

"It  is  fairy  land  1  "  cried  Helen,  enthusiastically. 

"  See  that  cedar  I "  .said  Isabella,  "  with  its  deep  green 
lighted  up  by  a  single  spot  of  blazing  crimson." 

"And  the  woods  are  full  of  purple  grapes,"  exclaimed 
Helen.     "  Are  they  good  to  eat,  Pembcrton  ?  " 

"Try  them,"  said  Pemberton,  bringing  the  boat  near 
one  of  the  banks.     "  Daughter  of  Eve,  i)luck  and  eat. " 

"  Pshaw — these  small  ones  are  sour  and  fnll  of  seed." 

"  Those  are  Chicken  grapes.  The  others  are  betl  r, 
the  Fox  grapes." 

"  Yes,  they  will  do  tolerably  well— they  are  sweet." 

"  One  moment,  Pemberton,"  cried  Andr6,  extending 
his  hand  to  grasp  a  pretty  blue  flower  that  grew  along  the 
margin.     "  What  do  you  call  this,  ladies?  " 

"It  is  the  Fringed  Gentian,"  said  Isabella. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  signifies.  Miss  Helen — I  may  be 
doing  something  very  serious  or  shocking,  indeed — but 
will  you  accept  this  blue  Gentian  from  one  of  the  very 
humblest  of  your  devoted  admirers  ?  " 

"  Captain  Andrd,  I  do  wish  you  would  leave  all  that 


.  'i,'.j'-,.- 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AOO. 


63 


of  stc'iJS  to  a  spot  just 

as  niourcd. 

tlic  boat,   I'cmbcrtoii 

the  in.llu(i(l  stream, 
in  shone  down  upon 
;  splendor.  On  each 
were  drapeil  with  the 
ion — amphitheatres  of 

gold.  And  reflected 
s  pomp  of  variegated 

cd  Andri,  enthusia.sti- 
r  to  show  like  this.  It 
.n  princess." 

enthusiastically. 

"  with  its  deep  green 
ig  crimson." 
le  grapes,"  exclaimed 
mberton?" 
ringing  the  boat  near 
vc,  pluck  and  eat." 
iir  and  fnll  of  seed." 
rhe  others  are  betl  r, 

— they  are  sweet." 
led  Andr6,  extending 
er  that  grew  along  the 
ladies?" 
d  Isabella. 

Miss  Helen — I  may  be 
shocking,  indeed — but 
from  one  of  the  very 
?" 
I  would  leave  all  that 


slyle  of  spcec  hes  at  the  theatre  down  South  Street,"  'c- 
plied  Helen,  drawing  back  the  iuuul  she  had  involuntarily 
extended. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Miss  Helen.  Will  you  accept  this 
(lower  in  tt)ken  of  forgiveness,  and  as  a  pledge  of  my  car- 
nest  friendship?  " 

"1  am  most  happy  to  do  so,"  replied  Helen,  molli- 
fied. 

"  What  a  delightful,  tart,  sweet,  spirited  and  (liscinating 
creature  she  is,"  thought  Andre,  as  he  leaned  over  the  side 
of  the  boat,  and  dallied  with  the  cool,  clear  water. 

"  Leap  out,  Andre,  with  the  chain,  and  hold  the  boat," 
cried  Pembcrton,  bringing  the  skiff  up  by  the  side  of  a 
rock,  and  at  the  entrance  of  a  little  cove.  "  This  is  Cres- 
heim  creek." 

Fastening  the  boat,  they  made  their  way  along  the  slop- 
ing, rugged  sitle  of  a  sliallow  and  rocky  stream,  that 
emptied  at  that  place  into  the  Wissahickon.  Soon  they 
came  to  where  it  poured  over  and  between  huge  rocks  and 
boulders  into  a  little  pool. 

"  Now  for  a  climb,  girls,"  said  Pemberton.  "  Andri, 
you  take  care  of  Miss  Helen." 

"Miss  me  no  miss,  among  these  rocks,  Arthur.  It  is 
out  of  place,"  cried  Helen.  "  Here  I  am  simply  Helen 
Graham.  These  old  rocks  do  not  like  such  courtly  titles. 
This  huge  one  is  my  father." 

"  Let  me  help  you  up  on  your  father's  shoulders,  then," 
laughed  Andr6,  in  response  to  the  ardent  girl.  Without 
much  help  from  the  gentlemen,  for  both  were  supple-limbed 
and  sure-footed,  the  ladies  made  their  way  to  the  top  of  a 
huge  moss-covered  rock,  and  gazed  down  the  cleft  where 
the  stream  was  pouring. 

"That  is  the  Devil's  pool,"  said  Pemberton,  pointing 
to  the  still  water  below.     "  The  fall  is  rMher  quiet  now, 


-©4  pemberton; 

but  after  a  rain  i*:  is  quite  a  roaring  cascade,  I  assure 
you."  .  : 

"  Is  the  pool  deep  ?  "  asked  Helen.  '^   ' 

"  "The  devil  is  said  to  be  very  deep,"  replied  Andri; 
"  and  of  course  his  pool  must  be,  or  else  it  would  not  hold 
him." 

"Ah,  you  have  caught  it — you  have  caught  it  at  last," 
cried  Pemberton,  shaking  his  head  mournfully. 

"Caught  what?" 

"  The  vile  habit  of  punning.  It  is  said  to  be  in  the 
Philadelphia  atmosphere.  I  believe  that  even  Washington 
would  pun  were  he  to  live  here  for  six  months." 

"Oh,  nonsense,"  said  Helen — "how  deep  is  it?" 
- 1  will  give  you  two  authorities,  and  you  may  take 
your  choice.  I  know,  of  course,  which  you  will  prefer. 
When  Morris  and  I  were  boys,  he  one  day,  as  he  says, 
took  a  line,  and  attaching  a  weight  to  it,  lowered  it  down, 
and  down,  into  the  pool ;  but  he  could  find  no  bottom. 
Not  long  after,  I  thought  I  would  try ;  and  I  took  a  long 
fishing  pole,  and  pushed  it  down,  and  down,  until  I  could 
push  it  no  farther;  and  thus  very  easily  found  the 
bottom  " 

"  01  course  I  accept  Mr.  Morris's  statement  as  the  most 
reasonable  and  reliable,"  replied  Helen.  "And  I  think 
your  father,  Pemberton,  ought  to  have  taken  that  same 
long  fishing  pole  and  broken  it  into  very  little  pieces  over 
your  naughty  back.  You  are  by  far  too  skeptical,  Arthur. 
I  hate  skepticism.     It  is  that  which  makes  men  rebels." 

"Hush!  hush!  hush!"  cried  Andr6,  "you  know  that 
subject  is  tabooed." 

"Well,"  said  Pemberton,  "it  maybe  that  there  is  a 
cleft  somewhere  between  the  rocks,  which  will  let  a  stone 
down  a  good  ways.     I  thought  myself  that  there  was  a 


in; 
roaring  cascade,  I  assure 

Helen.  "■    ' 

rydeep,"  replied  AndrtS; 
e,  or  else  it  would  not  hold 

)u  have  caught  it  at  last," 
ead  mournfully. 

It  is  said  to  be  in  the 
lieve  that  even  Washington 
for  six  months." 
— "  how  deep  is  it  ?  " 
jrities,  and  you  may  take 
56,  which  you  will  prefer, 
;,  he  one  day,  as  he  says, 
ght  to  it,  lowered  it  down, 
he  could  find  no  bottom. 
Id  try ;  and  I  took  a  long 
n,  and  down,  until  I  could 
as   very  easily  found   the 

rris's  statement  as  the  most 
ed  Helen.  "  And  I  think 
to  have  taken  that  same 
into  very  little  pieces  over 
y  far  too  skeptical,  Arthur, 
lich  makes  men  rebels." 
d  Andr6,  "  you  know  that 

'  it  may  be  that  there  is  a 
>cks,  which  will  let  a  stone 
It  myself  that  there  was  a 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


65 


hidden  passage  somewhere  below,  letting  the  water  flow 
underground  mto  the  creek." 

"Ah,  now  you  begin  to  talk  a  little  more  sensibly," 
said  Helen.  "You  could  not  persuade  me  that  there  is 
not  something  mysterious  and  uncanny  about  this  pool — 
why  the  whole  place  bears  witness  to  it." 

"If  you  ladies  are  sufficiently  satisfied,"  said  Pember- 
ton,  "  suppose  we  stroll  up  the  Wissahickon  for  half  a  mile 
or  so — though  we  shall  have  to  return  again  of  course  this 
way.     Come,  Bella." 

"Wait  one  moment  more,"  said  Helen  to  Andr6,  as 
their  companions  left  them ;  "  I  can  hardly  tear  myself 
away  from  this  romantic  spot. ' ' 

"  Allow  me  to  assist  your  beautiful  self  down  this  rugged 
descent,  Miss  Helen,"  said  Andre,  in  the  courtly  phrase 
he  was  rather  too  fond  of,  as  she  rose  from  the  rock  on 
whicli  she  had  been  sitting,  a  few  minutes  afterwards. 

"John  Andre,"  exclaimed  Helen,  pausing  and  facing 
him,  "  I  would  beg  of  you  to  forget  for  a  while  the  theatre, 
and  the  formal  language  of  polite  society,  and  so  long  as 
we  are  in  the  presence  of  these  old  gray  Quaker  rocks  and 
these  solemn  pines,  to  be  simply  a  sincere  and  earnest 
man." 

Andre's  brown  face  colored  to  the  forehead. 

"  I  thought  that  with  you,  Helen,  I  always  had  been 
both  sincere  and  earnest." 

Helen  made  no  reply — but  accepted  his  assistance  in 
making  her  way  over  and  around  the  precipitous  rocks  and 
boulders.  That  she  was  not  very  greatly  displeased,  he 
could  easily  infer — though  there  was  nothing  of  the  cox- 
comb in  his  nature — by  the  freedom  with  which  she 
allowed  her  hand  to  remain  in  his  grasp,  and  the  readiness 
with  which  she  placed  it  upon  his  shoulder  when  necessary. 

"Ah  me,  I  am  tired — let  us  rest  a  moment,"  said  she, 
6* 


1'   i; 


66 


PEMBERTON 


when  they  had  reached  the  Wissahickon  agair,  after  a 
short  but  rugged  tramp,  and  gone  up  the  stream  a  little 
further.     "  Here  is  a  mossy  seat,  made  on  purpose." 

It  was  a  low  ledge  of  stone,  moss-covered,  at  the  base  of 
a  little  cliff  which  rose  behind  it  in  a  wall  of  rock  some 
ten  or  fifteen  feet  high. 

"You  have  made  no  reply  yet,  Helen,  to  that  last  re- 
mark of  mine.  When  was  I  other  than  earnest  and  truth- 
ful with  you?  You  know  that  of  all  the  women  in  the 
world,  I  think  of  no  one  more  highly  than  of  you." 

"Are  you  sincere  and  truthful  now?  I  was  told  by  a 
friend  of  yours,  only  yesterday,  that  you  always  wore  upon 
your  breast  the  miniature  of  a  young  and  beautiful  woman. 
If  so,  you  ought  to  think  of  her  more  highly  than  you 

think  of  me." 

Andr6  had  been  standing  before  her.     Now  he  sat  down 

by  her  side. 

"  It  is  true,  Helen,  that  I  wear  upon  my  breast  the  like- 
ness ii  Honora  Sneyd ;  but  it  is  also  true  that  there 
is  no  woman  in  the  world  I  care  for  more  than  for  you." 
The  tones  of  the  young  officer,  always  soft  ^nd  mellow, 
grew  softer  with  that  suppressed  tenderness  which  women 

love. 

"You  give  me  a  riddle,"  replied  she,  with  studied  cold- 
ness. "  I  am  not  good  at  guessing  riddles.  Do  you  no 
longer  love  this  Miss  Honora  Sneyd  ?    Then  why  wear  her 

likeness  ?'  * 

"  Honora  Sneyd  is  now  Honora  Edgeworth— has  been 
so  for  years.  Helen,  I  loved,  or  thought  I  loved  her,  pas- 
sionately. She  thought  she  loved  me.  But  it  seems  she 
was  mistaken ;  and  when  another  came,  and  offered  his 
hand,  she  accepted  it.  If  I  did  not  care  for  you  greatly, 
would  1  thus  lay  bare  my  inmost  heart  before  you?" 

Andr6  started  from  his  seat  and  for  a  few  moments  paced 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


67 


ckon  agair,  after  a 
)  the  stream  a  little 
;  on  purpose." 
vered,  at  the  base  of 
1  wall  of  rock  some 

;len,  to  that  last  re- 
in earnest  and  truth- 
[  the  women  in  the 
than  of  you." 
V  ?  I  was  told  by  a 
ou  always  wore  upon 
nd  beautiful  woman, 
are  highly  than  you 

r.     Now  he  sat  down 

in  my  breast  the  like- 
also  true  that  there 
more  than  for  you." 
lys  soft  and  mellow, 
ierness  which  women 

he,  with  studied  cold- 
riddles.     Do  you  no 
Then  why  wear  her 

Mgeworth — ^has  been 
ught  I  loved  her,  pas- 
ne.  But  it  seems  she 
ame,  and  offered  his 
care  for  you  greatly, 
irt  before  you?" 
■  a  few  moments  paced 


up  and  down  the  leaf-covered  ground  before  her.  Then 
he  resumed — 

"I  could  not  give  her  up,  married  though  she  was. 
When  I  wiis  taken  prisoner  two  years  ago  at  St.  Johns,  the 
only  thing  I  saved  from  my  capturers  was  her  likeness — 
and  saving  that,  I  thought  myself  happy.  Still  my  passion, 
thus  denied  and  hopeless,  must  have  been  gradually  wear- 
ing itself  out.  For  the  last  month,  I  have  scarcely  thought 
a  moment  of  Honora  Sneyd— and  yet,  so  powerful  is  the 
force  of  habit,  I  have  continued  to  wear  her  image." 

He  resumed  his  seat  by  Helen's  side;  and  then  said,  in 
a  still  lower  tone,  ♦'  Do  you  think  that  a  noble-hearted 
woman  could  ever  esteem  a  man's  second  love,  as  if  it  had 
been  his  first  ?  Do  you  think  it  possible  that  I,  who  loved 
so  devotedly  then,  can  love  another  even  more  passionately 
and  truly  now?" 

"I,  for  one  woman,  would  rather  have  the  second  love, 
which  is  the  man's,  than  the  first  love,  which  was  the 
boy's" — ^and  Helen  paused,  and  seemed  listening.  "I 
thought  I  heard  Pemberton  and  Isabella  returning." 

"  It  was  nothing  but  a  squirrel  dropping  his  nut,"  said 
Andr6. 

"  I  thought  it  sounded  like  a  footstep,"  rejoined  Helen. 
"  Had  we  not  better  go  on,  and  see  what  has  become  of 
them?" 

"  In  one  moment,'  replied  Andr6.  The  woman  was 
already  satisfied,  for  the  time ;  the  man,  man-like,  would 
liave  his  conclusions  made  doubly  sure,  and  leave  no  room 
for  doubt.  "Helen,"  continued  he  in  a  low  but  impas- 
sioned tone,  "  I  love  you  better  than  ever  I  loved  Honora 
Sneyd." 

"  Dear  John,  I  have  loved  you  since  that  first  hour  two 
years  ago,"  whispered  Helen,  looking  up  into  his  brown 


J 


68 


ill' 


pemp-erton; 
eyes  with  a  look  that  he  had  never  seen  in  that  spirited 

^' He  put'his  arm  around  her  for  the  f.rst  time-he  pressed 
his  glowing  cheek  to  hers.  She  submitted  for  a  moment 
-then  she  widened  the  distance  between  them 

..Was    Honora    Sneyd    so    very    pretty    tlien?  ^  she 

He  took  a  small  miniature  from  his  bosom.     "  See,  she 
also  has  blue  eyes  and  golden  haii.  '  , 

<'My  hair  is  not  golden."  ,     ,     . 

"  It  is  golden,  in  the  sun.     I  like  your  hair  the  best. 
It  is  the  richer  looking." 

'«She  is  very  beautiful,"  said  Helen;  but  there  was  a 
proud  satisfaction  in  the  tone.  It  was  as  if  she  had  said, 
^hat  she  really  would  have  scorned  herself  or  even  ^o^- 
sciously  thinking,  much  less  saying-"  but  I  am  more 

^'^^And  she  is  now  Mrs.  Edgeworth?"  continued  she. 

"Yes  and  the  mother  of  two  children,  living  what  she 
so  eready  loves-,  a  quiet  and  happy  domestic  life.  1 
t^inV-  continued  Andr6,  his  face  flushing,  "that  thut 
Lly  was  the  bar  fate  set  between  us.  She  is  not  the  l.ast 
ambitious-.he  must  have  felt,  even  almost  without  per 
ceiving  it,  that  I  am  very  difrerent-.:aring  not  so  much 
r^L  and  quiet,  as  for  a  proud  and  brilliant  careen 
She  never  could  have  sympathized  with  me  cs  you  can,  and 

^Thfeyesof  the  girl  shone  like  two  stars;  her  cheeks 
flushed ;  her  proud  bosom  heaved.  "  You  are  my  king  of 
;et-;ou  long  for  the  station  which  is  your  natural  right. 
And  I  am  fit  to  be  your  queen." 

"Now,  Pemberton,"  continued  Andrfi,  "fine  fellow  as 
he  is,  has  no  ambition-scoffs  at  it.  He  would  be  satis- 
fied?he  says,  with  a  quiet  life  among  his  books,  at  such  a 


i 


OR,    ONE.  HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


seen  in  that  spirited 

;  first  time— he  pressed 
ibmitted  for  a  moment 
tween  them. 
Y    pretty    tlien?"   she 

his  bosom.     "  See,  she 


ike  your  hair  the  best. 

lelen ;  but  there  was  a 
was  as  if  she  had  said, 
d  herself  for  even  con- 
ing— "but  I  am  more 

rth?"  continued  she. 
hildren,  living  what  she 
lappy  domestic  life.  I 
,ce  flushing,  "that  thut 
us.  She  is  not  the  kast 
^en  almost  without  per- 
it — caring  not  so  much 
ud  and  brilliant  career. 
I  with  me  cs  you  can,  and 

:e  two  stars ;  her  cheeks 
[.  "  You  are  my  king  of 
lich  is  your  natural  right. 

d  Andrfi,  "fine  fellow  as 
t  it.  He  would  be  satis- 
long  his  books,  at  such  a 


69 


Sd'uyrki7"°'^'''"'^~^'  '^'"  '°  '°'"'  ''"•'  ^°"^ec  on  the 
''Isabella  fully  agrees  with  him  in  that,"  replied  Helen. 
Ihmk  of  such  a  glorious  woman  as  Bella,  such  a  perfect 
q..een,  passing  her  whole  life  sequestered  in  some  little 
cottage  in  the  neighborhood  of  Philadelphia.  I  believe 
that  both  she  and  Pemberton,  when  they  marry,  will  aban- 
don even  our  little  provincial  society,  and  play  Darby  and 
Joan  in  the  mo.:t  approved  fashion." 

"if""^./rfr' ''''''■'"■  ^''■°'"  '"^'"  continued  Andr^, 
proudly.  "  If  I  fail,  it  shall  not  be  for  want  of  effort  and 
'taring.  I  am  simply  a  captain  now.  In  one  year  I  mean 
to  be  major,  in  another  colonel-in  another,  perhaps, 
general.  See  how  rapidly  Churchill  rose.  I  have  given 
you  my  heart,  Helen;  when  I  give  you  my  hand  it  shaU 
have  something  in  it." 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  lofty  look  in 
lier  eyes  "  I  am  ready  to  wait  for  you,  Andr^-forever, 
If  need  be  !  And  I  know  I  can  often  assist  you  in  mount- 
ing the  steeps  of  fortune  and  fame.  I  would  scorn  to  be 
an  incumbrance  to  you.  Tnist  me  entirely  and  utterly 
with  all  your  plans  and  schemes-let  me  be  one  with  you 
m  heart  and  life.  You  shall  never  have  cause  to  blush  at 
any  weakness  or  indiscretion  of  mine." 

"I  shall  trust  you— entirely !  utterly  I  And  when  I 
have  won  my  coveted  honors,  we  shall  have  the  happiness 
of  knowing  that  we  have  planned  and  toiled  for  each 
other." 

But  we  must  leave  these  young  lovers  together  for  a 
while,  rapt  in  their  blissful  dreams  of  a  glorious  future, 
and  give  a  fragment  of  another  conversation,  taking  place 
at  the  same  time,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off 

These,  sitting  on  this  fallen  trunk,  within  the  solemn 


I  Si 


1' 


^Q  PEMBERTDN  J 

'  i«  .f  thU  dark  erove  of  hemlocks-sittint?  so  closely, 
S  oy  ng  iteacl  other's  hands  and  hah,  and  ^..ng 
p  oudlyand  fondly  into  each  other's  eyes-  -  -^^^^^ 
been  acknowledged  lovers  for  some  t.me-to  themselves, 
if  nnt  to  the  world.     Pemberton  is  speaking. 

I  am  not  ^  you  know,  Bella,  in  the  least  arrjb.t.ous 
_ar^lTd^°iie  aid  abhor  the  soldier's  bloody  tracebt 
I  confess  I  can  hardly  endure  to  ren.am  qmetly  at  home, 
when  the  great  Cause  is  in  such  perd.  _ 

"' <  .ealfy  think  it  would  break  your  mother  s  h  a  t  A  - 
thnr  if  vou  should  join  the  army.  To  go  out  to  war 
would  be  a  sad  blow  of  itself;  but  to  join  those  whom  she 
rontlers  rebels,  would  be  something  almost  unendurable 

'"  Xat  is  what  I  have  said  to  myself  all  along,"  replied 
he      ''But  it  looks  .s  if  I  were  a  coward,  to  stay  at  home 

'"^^.rryrk^rj-self.  th.  it  is  not  cowardice 
Why  regard  then  what  others  may  think  or  say?    Besnd  s, 
1  you  not  really  affording  more  valuable  a.d  tothe  Colo- 
nTal^use  than  you  could  give  in  any  other  manner  ? 
" .  ?hey  all  say  so.     Washington  himself  says  I  must  not 
1.0VP  the  -itv      But  I  hate  this  kind  of  service. 
'Tyou  d    not  deceive  anybody.     You  pry  into  no  per- 
son's confidence.     You  let  every  one  know  that  you  are 
not  thoroughly  loyal.     You  merely  avail  yourself  of  out- 
Sde t^.ansVobt'aining  information,"  said  Isabella  ma 
?ow  voice,  and  glancing  around  her,  as  if  remembermg  the 

old  adage  that  "  '^^^l^fl' ^^  ^r.c  low,  cautious  tone. 

«'  Iknow  It,"  replied  he,  m  the  same  low 
.'  I  would  not  do  it  in  any  other  way.     But  if  I  am  disco 
vered.  notwithstanding,  my  name  will  suffer  reproach  and 
I  may  suffer  the  fate  of  a  spy." 


cks— sittint;  so  closely, 
;  and  hail-,  and  gazing 
's  eyes— have  evidently 
e  time — to  themselves, 
s  speaking. 

in  the  least  ambitious 
tier's  bloody  trade— but 
■emain  quietly  at  home, 

;ril." 

^our  mother's  heart,  Ar- 

ny.     To  go  out  to  war 

to  join  those  whom  she 

ling  almost  unendurable 

lyself  all  along,"  replied 
.  coward,  to  stay  at  home 

lat  it  is  not  cowardice. 
^  think  or  say?    Besides, 
valuable  aid  to  the  Colo- 
n  any  other  manner  ?" 
in  himself  says  I  must  not 
Lind  of  service." 
y.     You  pry  into  no  per- 
y  one  know  that  you  are 
rely  avail  yourself  of  out- 
lation,"  said  Isabella  in  a 
her,  as  if  remembering  the 
i» 

e  same  low,  cautious  tone, 
r  way.  But  if  I  am  disco- 
tie  will  suffer  reproach  and 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


71 


"A  spy — what,  you,  in  your  own  city — your  own 
house?" — and  Bella  whispered  the  dangerous  words. 

"  Military  men  are  not  much  given  to  nice  legal  distinc- 
tions, Belli!.  You  see  I  am  not  acting  in  the  dark.  I 
know  my  position  and  its  dangers.  And  I  have  taken  this 
ojjportunity  to  let  you  know  them,  thinking  it  your  right. 
Besides,  I  have  been  myself  a  little  puzzled;  and  I  have 
great  confidence  in  your  sound  judgment  and  noble  in- 
stincts, my  sweet  love. ' ' 

' '  I  never  dreamed  of  this  terrible  view  of  your  conduct. 
I  shall  never  see  that  flag  waving  again,  without  a  flutter  at 
my  heart,"  said  Isabella  huskily. 

Pemberton  was  too  much  occupied  with  his  own 
thougiits,  to  note  how  seriously  his  fair  companion  was 
affected.     Else  pftrhaps  he  would  not  have  continued. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Bella?  Shall  I  go  on  with  this  dan- 
gerous business,  or  shall  I  give  it  up?" 

The  color  fled  from  her  face,  and  left  it  like  marble. 
She  put  out  her  hands  before  her,  as  if  pressing  away  from 
her  some  hideous  thing.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  the 
words  gurgled  in  her  throat.  Suddenly  she  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  burst  into  uncontrollable 
tears. 

"Forgive  me,  Bella !  I  thought  not  it  would  move 
you  thus.  You  are  usually  so  calm  and  self-possessed,  you 
know.  Cheer  up,  my  sweet,  there  is  no  danger  yet — and 
probably  will  be  none." 

"You  asked  me  a  question,  Arthur,"  said  Bella,  re- 
gaining her  composure  with  a  strong  effort.  "  It  came 
upon  me  so  suddenly,  you  see,  that  it  unwomaned  me  a 
little."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  twined  the  beautiful 
bright  hair  she  admired  so  much  around  her  fingers.  "  You 
have  taught  me — a  British  soldier's  daughter — to  love  the 
cause  of  the  Colonies  as  I  love  you,  to  revere  it  as  a  re- 


72 


rEMllERlON ; 


ligion,  to  hesitate  at  nothing  lawful  that  w.ll  hasten    t^ 
tril  )h.     I  would  give  my  own  life  th.s  <lay,  if  I  'oM 
Zr  lis  succ-ess-but  I  an.  a  woman,  and  do  r^^  ^ 
to  decide  that  you  shall  thus  penl  yours.     Decide  lor 
TouSand  I  will  submit  to  your  decision   as  a  woman 
should-and  then  leave  the  event  to  the  good  God. 
"-Did  you  hear  Andre  questioning  old  Foxey  this  morn- 
iiiL'?"  continued  she,  after  a  pause. 
"";.  I.  „ea„.  .mlhing.  a„,l  lU.cy  is  well  -"«•-"'"  °^ 

most  white  men."  „f,^M   r>r  " 

..There  is  only  one  man  that  I  am  really  afra  d  of, 
continued  Isabella.      "It    is   that  Tarleton    w>th     hose 
smalCsnaky  eyesof  his.     Promise  me  one  thing,  Arthur. 

'/.K  Tarleton  ever  begins  to  question  and  suspect,  that 

^°^Ti:ir;^"°th:-Mnt,  Bella.     I  will,  you  may  de 
pend  ;;on  il  if  I  have  the  chance,     f- with  l^rleton  it 

,iiv  U  a  word  and  a  blow,  and  the  blow  first. 
rrCTJnnL  and  And,.  beP    I  .hough,  .hey 
„o„W  have  ovemkcus  by  .hi.  .in»e,"  said  I^Wla,  r,s- 

'"^.rimagta  .■ha.  Hd.n  and  And,6  are  having  a  very 
rieaUr.?me  by  .hemselve,,"  replied  Pen.ber.on,  smdmg. 
^SVu  .crU  =mi..en,  or  I  never  had  .he  com- 

'"'V'Men  di..o,"  ^^\';:l.lZl^^f^l<^t^'-''''^"> 
"Well,  they  are  a  splendid  coupie— uui, 
well,  u'v,;.  Morris?     He  is  ovcr  hcod  and 

l^-r.lirrre^^rlceshe.vedhiUire, 

^':;ptf;sio:"""»ighed  i-i«'>a.  -i'  -™' ■- 

bejd  ;o!:gh ;  for  Men  is  .erribly  Hal.  and  hes,des, 


vful  that  will  hasten  its 
life  this  (lay,  if  I  ro\\k\ 
man,  and  tlo  not  ask  me 
leril  yours.  Decide  for 
)ur  decision,  as  a  woman 
t  to  the  good  God." 
ling  old  Foxcy  this  morn- 

isc. 

y  is  well  named— that  old 

ilks,  is  wider  awake  than 

I  am  really  afraid  of," 
hat  Tarleton,  with  those 
ise  me  one  thing,  Arthur." 

question  and  suspect,  that 

;ella.     I  will,  you  may  de- 
uce.    But  with  Tarleton  it 
,  and  the  blow  first." 
aidre  be?    I  thought  they 
is  time,"  said  Isabella,  ris- 

1  Andr6  are  having  a  very 
replied  Pemberton,  smiling. 
or   I  never  had  the  com- 

lister,  smiling, 
couple— but  what  then  is  to 
[orris?     He  is  over  head  and 
ever  since  she  saved  his  lite, 

Isabella.       "It   cannot   be 
s  terribly  Ipyal,  and  besides, 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


73 


thinks  Andr6  a  Chevalier  Bayard  and  an  Admirable  Crich- 
ton  both  in  one." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  I  love  John  Andr6,  loyal  as 
he  is,  more  than  I  ever  expected  to  love  mortal  man.  Pe 
is  a  noble  fellow — true  to  the  core.  He  has  only  o  ic 
fault— he  is  too  ambitious.  '  By  that  sin  fell  the  angels.  " 

During  this  latter  conversation  they  had  been  retraci  ng 
their  steps,  and  soon  came  upon  Helen  and  Andrt,  w'lo 
were  seated  about  three  feet  apart,  and  appeared  to  ,ic 
carrying  on  a  brisk  conversation,  in  a  light  tone  of  bad,- 
nage. 

"We  were  just  wondering  if  you  never  were  coming 
back,"  cried  Helen,  as  she  saw  them— though  the  crimson 
of  her  cheeks  was  richer  and  more  widely  spread  than 
usual,  as  her  sister  saw  at  a  glance. 

But  she  was  a  good  and  discreet  sister,  and  knew  when 
to  talk,  and  when  to  be  silent.  So  she  simply  said  that 
she  thought  it  was  about  time  they  were  returning  home, 
and  pas.sed  on  with  Pemberton,  while  Helen  and  Andre 
demurely  followed. 

"  It  is  not  late,  let  us  climb  up  that  rock  above  the  pool 
once  more,"  cried  Helen. 

The  others  assenting,  they  were  soon  grouped  again  on 
the  top  of  the  huge  oblong  rock  or  boulder  overlooking 
the  Devil's  pool. 

Suddenly  a  heavy  stone  fell  splashing  into  the  stream 
above  them,  and  the  whole  party  almost  involuntarily 
turned  their  heads,  to  see  where  the  stone  had  come 
from. 


■';»' 


74 


PEMBERTON  ; 


CHAPTKR  VII. 

T  H  E     D  E  S  K  R  T  E  R  S . 

Offscourin);')  ofthewar— amullnouscrew—  ^ 

Tl,i-y  ro;im  ihc  woods  at  will,  and  know  no  law 
Save  llicir  own  witkcd  pleasure. 

' '  Stir  not  a  step,  for  your  lives  1 "  •  >  _ 

Such  was  tiie  rude  commanil  which  came  from  one  of 

four  men,  dressc<l  in  torn  and  faded  British  uniforms,  who 

stood  with  muskets  in  their  hands,  not  more  than  thirty  or 

forty  yards  in  a  direct  air  line  from  them. 

Our  party  were  grouped,  as  we  have  said,  on  the  top  of 
the  rock.  They  were  overshadowed  by  huge  hemlocks, 
but  perfectly  exposed  to  view,  as  there  were  no  low 
branches.  Behind  them,  on  the  brow  of  a  lofty  precipice, 
formed  by  the  jutting  out  of  a  narrow  ridge  from  the 
higher  portion  of  the  liill,  and  about  fifty  feet  above  their 
level,  stood  the  deserters-one  of  them  wearing  the  chev- 
rons of  a  corporal.  Between  the  two  parties  was  a  deep 
chasm  or  ravine-but  the  muskets  of  the  deserters  com- 
manded the  entire  position. 

Andr6  took  in  the  aspect  of  affairs  at  a  glance  with  a 
soldier's  eye.     Stepping  back  on  the  rock,  a  little  out  pf 
the  roar  of  the  waterfall,  he  cried  sternly— 
"  What  mean  you  ?" 

What  the  reply  would  have  been,  we  know  not,  for  at 
that  instant  Helen  placed  her  whistle  to  her  lips,  and  blew 
a  shrill  and  prolonged  note,  which  pierced  through  every 
nook  and  cranny  of  the  ravine.  ,   ,    • 

With  a  volley  of  fearful  oaths,  the  deserters  raised  their 
muskets  to  their  shoulders,  and  one  of  them,  a  vile-lookmg 
wretch,  fired.  Andrei  had  sprung  in  an  instant  in  front  of 
Helen ;  but  if  the  villain's  left  foot  had  not  slipped  on  the 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


75 


II. 

?  R  S . 

iu!i  crew — 
1  know  no  law 


lich  came  from  one  of 
1  British  uniforms,  who 
not  more  than  thirty  or 
I  them. 

nave  said,  on  the  top  of 
ed  by  huge  hemlocks, 
as  there  were  no  low 
•ow  of  a  lofty  precipice, 
narrow  ridge  from  the 
ut  fifty  feet  above  their 
them  wearing  the  chev- 
two  parties  was  a  deep 
s  of  the  deserters  com- 

iffairs  at  a  glance  with  a 
the  rock,  a  little  out  pf 
sternly — 

■en,  we  know  not,  for  at 
stle  to  her  lips,  and  blew 
h  pierced  through  every 

the  deserters  raised  their 
le  of  them,  a  vile-looking 
;  in  an  instant  in  front  of 
Dt  had  not  slipped  on  the 


dry  leaves,  as  he  threw  it  out  when  taking  aim,  Helen 
pn.baMy  would  have  paid  for  her  daring  with  her  life. 
\s  it  was,  the  ball  whistled  just  over  her  head. 

"How  dare  you  fire  without  orders,"  cried  the  leader 
of  the  deserters—*'  do  you  mean  to  bring  the  riHcmen  on 

"'"They  are  fur  enough  away,"  angrily  responded  the 
ruffian  ;  "  they  are-down  below  the  Falls  by  this  time.' 

"Then,  what  harm  could  that  silly  whistle  do  us? 
But,"  raising  his  voice,  "  if  you  try  diat  again,  my  lassie, 
the  next  bullet  will  be  surer  aimed." 

"  Wliat  do  you  mean  by  this  ruffian-like  conduct  ?  ex- 
claimed Pemberton.     "  If  you  fire  another  shot,  I'll  have 

you  all  hung  for  it."  ,.    ,    ,       ,     \^ 

"Aye,  aye,  I  suppose  you  will,"  replied  the  deserter. 
"But  you  must  first  catch  your  hare  before  you  skin  hira 
—mustn't  he,  boys?"  ^ 

His  comrades  laughed  recklessly  and  defiantly.  ^^  Ask 
Captain  Andry  what  he's  done  with  his  red  coat,  said 
one  of  them.     "  Has  he  gone  over  to  the  rebs  ? 

"Don't  get  off  that  rock!"  exclaimed  their  leader, 
savagely,  and  levelling  his  musket  again,  as  Isabella,  her 
eyes  flashing,  made  a  movement  as  if  designing  to  leave 
their  perilous  position. 

' '  Do  you  want  money  ?' '  cried  Pemberton. 
"Aye!   money,  and  watches,  and   rings-everything ! 
We'll  send  a  man  down  to  search  you." 

"We  will  not  submit  to  be  searched,"  exclaimed  both 
the  young  men  in  a  breath. 

"You  cannot  help  yourselves."  ..    ,^ 

"We  cannot ?-come  on  and  see!"  cried  Andr6,  put- 
ting his  hand  in  his  breast  pocket.  - 

The  deserters  talked  together  in  low  tones  for  a  few  mo- 
ments.    They  could  kill  them  all  from  that  distance ;  but, 


j6  I'EMHERTON  ; 

if  they  did,  they  would  lliemsclvcs  be  hunted  down  like 
wolves.  To  attempt  to  overpower  the  young  men  in  a 
close  struggle  wouKl  be  atteniled  with  danger,  for  they 
might  have  dirks  or  pistols.  At  last  their  leader,  the  cor- 
poral, again  spoke  in  a  loud  voice. 

•*  Put  down  your  purses,  your  watches  and  your  rings 
on  the  top  of  the  rock  ;  and  then  go,  and  be  d — d  to  you." 

"You  will  not  molest  us  further?"  cried  Pemberton. 

"  No — curse  you." 

"  What  security  have  we  for  that?"  asked  Andr6. 

"The  only  security  you  can  have,  the  honor  of  a 
British  soldier,"  scoffed  the  leader. 

"  In  the  sacred  name  of  God,  and  of  the  Virgin  Mo- 
ther? "  continued  Andrd;  adding,  in  a  low  voice  to  Pem- 
berton,  "  I  know  that  man  ;  he  was  the  only  English  Ro- 
man Catholic  in  our  regiment." 

"  In  the  name  of  God  and  the  holy  Virgin  Mother  I  " 
repeated  the  man,  lifting  his  hat,  while  one  of  the  others 
imitated  his  example.  "  But  hurry  with  you — we're  not 
going  to  stay  here  all  day." 

The  young  men  took  out  their  gold  watches — ^worn 
more  unfrequently  at  that  time  than  now,  even  silver  ones 
being  not  very  common — and  laid  them  with  their  purses 
on  the  moss-covered  portion  of  the  rock. 

"  Now  for  the  ladies — come,  hurry  !  "  cried  the  de- 
serter. 

Helen  threw  down  her  purse  disdainfully ;  Isabella 
calmly  placed  hers  with  the  rest.  They  did  not  seem 
very  heavy  ;  but  ladies'  purses  are  expected  to  be  lighter 
than  gentlemen's — ^besides,  they  had  both  taken  the  pre- 
caution of  undoing  the  clasps,  and  emptying  them  as  far 
as  possible,  before  taking  them  out  of  their  pockets.  Ea:ch 
laid  down  a  ring  or  two  also — none  showing  afterward  on 
either  fair  hand. 


k.-- 


._;V.ff;'-8  ;;,;■■ 


OR,  ONK  IH;NI)KKI)  vkars  aoo. 


77 


.•s  be  hunted  down  like 
'cr  the  young  men  in  a 
1  with  danger,  for  they 
ast  their  leader,  the  cor- 

watches  and  your  rings 
o,  and  be  d — d  to  you." 
T?"  cried  I'emberton. 

at?"  asked  Andr6. 

have,  the  honor  of  a 
er. 

and  of  the  Virgin  Mo- 
,  in  a  low  voice  to  Pem- 
33  the  only  English  Ro- 

holy  Virgin  Mother  1  " 

while  one  of  the  others 

ry  with  you — we're  not 

*ir  gold  watches — ^worn 
an  now,  even  silver  ones 
1  them  with  their  purses 
le  rock, 
hurry  !  "    cried  the  de- 

!  disdainfully ;  Isabella 
t.  They  did  not  seem 
;  expected  to  be  lighter 
lad  both  taken  the  pre- 
nd  emptying  them  as  far 
it  of  their  pockets.  Ealch 
(le  showing  afterward  on 


•'Stay"  cried  the  licad  deserter,  as  they  were  about 
leaving  the  rock.  "  Captain,  I  think  you  have  a  small 
gold  case,  with  a  picture  inside  it,  on  a  blue  ribbon  around 
your  neck." 

"Siieak  aiid  spy  1  "  cried  Helen,  her  woman's  heart 
excited  beyond  endurance — "disgrace  alike  to  the  name 
of  soldier  and  of  man !  if  you  ever  had  loved  a  wife,  a 
sister,  or  a  mother,  you  would  scorn  to  make  a  demand 
like  that." 

Wretch  as  the  deserter  was,  he  evidently  was  shamed  a 
little.  "Some  keepsake  from  the  young  lady  herself,  I 
suppose,"  cried  he.  "Well,  we  won't  be  too  hard  on 
the  captain.  He  shall  keep  his  love  picture.  But  you 
must  put  down  that  silver  whistle  and  its  chain,  young 
lady.     That's  not  a  love-gift,  too,  I  suppose?  " 

Helen  was  about  to  lay  down  her  whistle,  when  a  com- 
motion was  evident  among  the  deserters.  They  had  faced 
about,  and  were  now  standing  with  their  muskets  levelled, 
apparently  peering  into  the  foliage  in  front  of  them. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  exclaimed  Helen. 

"I  hope  ic  means  that  the  riflemen  have  found  them," 
replied  Pemberton. 

"  Fire  1  "  was  at  this  moment  called  out — apparently  at 
a  considerable  distance.  A  scattering  report  followed — 
as  of  a  dozen  rifles — from  parties  too  intent  upon  their 
aim,  to  care  much  about  firing  closely  together.  Three 
of  the  deserters  fell  at  once  to  the  ground,  as  if  stone-dead. 
Their  leader,  however,  flung  back  a  yell  of  defiance,  fired 
his  own  musket,  and  then  snatched  the  muskets  of  his 
comrades  in  turn  from  the  earth,  and  discharged  them  at 
the  advancing  assailants.  With  a  shout,  when  the  last 
barrel  was  emptied,  the  riflemen  rushed  upon  him.  Club- 
bing his  musket,  the  deserter  struck  out  savagely  right  and 
left,  backing  sometimes  to  the  very  verge  of  the  cliff. 
7* 


V 


■0  /     .       PEMBERTON  ; 

"  Take  him  alive,  men — shooting  is  too  good  for  him !" 
shouted  a  stern  voice. 

"Never!  rjver!  you  cursed  Yankees!"  howled  the 
deserter — desperately  keeping  his  assailants  at  bay,  even 
on  the  utmost  verge  of  the  precipice. 

"Then  die,  like  a  dog !  "  shouted  a  stalwart  ranger, 
bringing  the  butt  of  his  rifle  full  upon  the  niffian's  temple. 
The  deserter  reeled,  staggered  for  a  moment,  and  crashed 
down  the  side  of  the  precipice  a  hundred  feet  to  the  sharp 
rocks  below. 

The  young  ladies  turned  their  eyes  away  from  the  horrid 
sight.  Then  Helen  started  forward  involuntarily,  as  if  to 
assist  him. 

"It  is  useless,"  said  Pemberton.     "He  is  past  help." 

"  He  has  died  the  death  of  a  deserter  and  a  thief!"  ex- 
claimed Andr6,  with  compressed  lips.  "They  are  not 
worth  thinking  of — this  world  has  had  enough  of  them." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Isabella.     "  Poor  fellows  1" 

"Here  come  our  gallant  rescuers,"  exclaimed  Helen, 
as  the  riflemen  began  to  file  down  into  the  glen.  "  I  sup- 
pose we  may  take  up  our  treasures  now. ' ' 

We  need  scarcely  describe  the  enthusiastic  welcome  with 
which  the  rangers  were  received.  Even  the  roughest  of 
these  hardy  sons  of  the  frontier,  felt  rejoiced  that  he  was 
one  of  the  party  which  had  come  so  opportunely  to  their 
aid.  For  both  the  ladies  shook  hands  with  every  man  at  - 
least  once,  and  thanked  him  personally  for  his  share  in  the 
fight.  And  one  of  the  rangers,  who  had  received  a  slight 
bullet  wound  in  the  arm,  was  envied  the  hurt  by  all  his 
comrades.  For  Helen  would  bondage  the  wound  with  her 
own  handkerchief,  and  both  she  and  Isabella  made  as  much 
ado  about  it,  as  if  the  wounded  man  were  injured  for  life. 
"  Simon  lets  on  to  be  a  great  deal'  more  hurt  than  he 
is,"  laughed  one  of  the  riflemen  to  another. 


^       ^ 


poN ; 

loting  is  too  good  for  him  !" 

sd  Yankees  !  "  howled  the 
his  assailants  at  bay,  even 

scipice.  ' 

shouted  a  stalwart  ranger, 

bll  upon  the  niffian's  temple, 
for  a  moment,  and  crashed 
a  hundred  feet  to  the  sharp 

:ir  eyes  away  from  the  horrid 
)rward  involuntarily,  as  if  to 

jerton.  "He  is  past  help." 
a  deserter  and  a  thief!"  ex- 
essed  lips.  "They  are  not 
i  has  had  enough  of  them." 
:11a.  "Poor  fellows!" 
rescuers,"  exclaimed  Helen, 
down  into  the  glen.  "  I  sup- 
isures  now. ' ' 

the  enthusiastic  welcome  with 
lived.  Even  the  roughest  of 
tier,  felt  rejoiced  that  he  was 
come  so  opportunely  to  their 
ook  hands  with  every  man  at . 
personally  for  his  share  in  the 
;rs,  who  had  received  a  slight 
IS  envied  the  hurt  by  all  his 
1  bandage  the  wound  with  her 
she  and  Isabella  made  as  much 
led  man  were  injured  for  life, 
jreat  deal '  more  hurt  than  he 
nen  to  another. 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS   AGO. 


79 


"Thet's  so — ^but  I  would  too,  under  the  same  aggra- 
watin'  carcumstances,"  replied  his  comrade.  At  which 
there  was  a  general  grunt  of  assent. 

"It  was  a  lucky  thing  you  came  up  when  you  did," 
said  Pemberton,  to  the  sergeant  commanding  the  party. 

"  Wall,  there  wasn't  much  of  what  you  call  luck  in  it," 
replied  the  sergeant.  "The  fact  is,  we  shouldn't  a  been 
hyere  at  all,  hadn't  it  been  for  Lefttenant  Morris?" 

"What  is  that  about  Lieutenant  Morris?"  cried  Helen. 

"The  sergeant  says,"  replied  Andr6,  "that  the  lieuten- 
ant sent  him  here." 

"  Wall,"  continued  the  sergeant,  "  we  had  got  down  to 
the  mouth  of  the  crick,  and  were  coming  out  of  the  woods 
on  the  Ridge,  when  who  should  dash  up  but  the  lefttenant. 
'  I'm  not  asy  in  my  mind,  sargeant,'  says  he.  *Thim  de- 
sarters  may  be  paceable  characters,  mere  hen-roost  thieves, 
or  they  may  not.  I  wish,'  says  he,  *  you'd  just  tarn  back, 
and  go  up  to  Luseley's  agen.  I  wouldn't  like  any  harm 
to  come  to  them  ladies.'  " 

"  Spoken  like  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,"  said  Andri. 

"'Wall,  lefttenant,  it's  all  the  same  to  me,'  says  I. 
And  so  we  tamed  back,  lookin'  a  little  closer  arter  the  var- 
ments. Soon  we  cum  on  a  trail.  Bless  your  hearts  ef 
they  hadn't  hollered  out  a  cave  under  some  rocks — ^and  we 
had  gone  clean  by  them ;  and  Simon  there  a  half-Injun 
too !  Drat  it  but  we  were  mad.  All  of  a  sudden  Simon 
sed — *  I  heered  the  lady's  whissel.'  'No?' says  I.  'Yes,' 
says  he.  'Git  out,'  says  I.  'lam  sure,'  says  he.  But 
we  all  heered  the  gun  plain  enough.  'Ah,'  says  I,  'that's 
your  little  game  is  it?'  We  tore  along,  sending  Simon 
fust ;  he's  half-Injun,  you  know.  Then  we  heered  them 
talking — ^and  closed  in  all  roun' them.  Jist  in  time  too, 
I  s'pect.  I  reckon  the  ladies  were  gittin'  a  little  skeart." 
"  Not  much  more  scared  thai,  the  gentlemen,"  replied 


8o 


PEMBERTON  J 


Pemberton,  smiling.  "  I  am  free  to  admit  that  I,  for  one, 
felt  very  uneasy.  But  it  is  time  now  we  wero  makmg  our 
way  back  to  Mr.  Livezey's." 

Some  of  the  riflemen  had  already  investigated  the  con- 
dition of  the  deserters,  and  finding  life  extinct  in  all  of 
them,  had  gone  off  to  procure  spades  to  bury  ihem  with. 
The  others  divided  into  two  parties,  one  to  await  their  re- 
turn, the  other  to  continue  on  their  way  to  Mr.  Livezey's. 
And  in  a  very  sober  and  thoughtful  mood  indeed,  the 
gay  party  of  the  morning  sought  their  boat,  while  Pember- 
ton rowed  slowly  back. 

At  the  landing  stood  Lieutenant  Morris.  "Welcome 
•back  !"  cried  he.  "I  hope  you  have  had  a  pleasant  ex- 
cursion to  Cresheim." 

"  Here  we  are,  all  safe,"  answered  Helen,  to  whom  his 
eyes  seemed  more  particularly  turned. 
'  "  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it,  I  confess,"  ejaculated  Morris, 
fervently.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  my  wound  seems  to  have 
enfeebled  my  mind  a  little,  for  a  more  foolishly  anxious 
three  hours  I  never  passed.  Why,  if  the  Indians  had  been 
upon  you,  and  scalping  you,  as  they  did  poor  Jane  McCrea, 
I  could  not  have  felt  worse." 

"Well,  Mr.  Morris,  we   came   about    as   near  being 

scalped  as   I  ever  want  to  come,"  said  Helen,  impres- 

■    sively.     "  But  I  whistled,  as  I  said  I  would,  and  you  sent 

help." 

"I  sent  help!" 

"Yes,  the   riflemen— they  came  just  in  the  nick  of 

time." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?    Were  you  in  danger,  then  ? 

By  this  time  they  were  on  the  porch ;  and,  taking  a 
seat,  Helen  recounted,  with  frequent  interruptions  from 
the  rest  of  the  party,  all  that  had  taken  place. 

"  And  now.  Lieutenant  Morris,"  said  she,  holding  out 


to  admit  that  I,  for  one, 
ow  we  were  making  our 

ly  investigated  the  con- 
ig  life  extinct  in  all  of 
ides  to  bury  ihem  with. 
;s,  one  to  await  their  re- 
ir  way  to  Mr.  Livezey's. 
;htful  mood  indeed,  the 
leir  boat,  while  Pember- 

nt  Morris.  "Welcome 
have  had  a  pleasant  ex- 
red  Helen,  to  whom  his 
ned. 

ifess,"  ejaculated  Morris, 
ny  wound  seems  to  have 
J,  more  foolishly  anxious 
J,  if  the  Indians  had  been 
;y  did  poor  Jane  McCrea, 

e  about  as  near  being 
le,"  said  Helen,  impres- 
.d  I  would,  and  you  sent 


,me  just  in  the  nick  of 

you  in  danger,  then  ?  " 
he  porch;  and,  taking  a 
quent  interruptions  from 
i  taken  place, 
s,"  said  she,  holding  out 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


8l 


her  hand,  "  I  think  we  are  fully  even — only  the  balance 
is  a  good  deal  in  your  favor." 

Morris  took  the  fair  hand,  but  seemed  a  little  puzzled 
what  to  do  with  it.  It  was  not  a  very  small  hand,  one  of 
those  you  can  hardly  feel,  but  the  proper  hand  to  belong 
to  a  rather  tall,  finely-developed  woman.  It  was  well- 
shaped,  soft,  somewhat  plump,  and  glowing  with  vitality. 
Such  a  hand,  in  short,  as  thrills  a  lover  through  and 
through.  But  the  Lieutenant,  as  we  saicf,  did  not  seem  to 
know  exactly  what  to  do  with  it.  If  it  had  been  a  man's 
hand,  he  would  have  given  it  a  hearty  grasp,  and  this  was 
what  Helen  expected ;  but,  after  gently  fumbling  with  the 
fair,  soft  fingers  a  little  in  his  embarrassment,  he  bent 
down  his  head,  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and,  before  the  whole 
party,  as  he  had  done  once  before  in  private,  fervently  but 
reverently  kissed  it. 

"Fie,  Mr.  Morris!"  cried  Helen,  flushing.  "You 
must  not  do  that. ' ' 

To  save  embarrassment,  Pemberton  interposed — "It 
is  full  time  we  were  going,  I  think.  Morris,  will  you  have 
the  horses  brought  up,  while  we  go  in  and  bid  adieu  to 
our  Cousin  Livezeys?  " 


8a 


pembErton ; 


.  CHAPTER  VIII. 

PHIL   MORRIS. 

<•  For  indeed  I  know 
Of  no  more  subtle  master  under  Heaven 
Thiin  is  the  inaiden  passion  for  a  maid, 
Not  only  to  keep  down  .the  base  in  man. 
But  teach  high  thoughts  and  amiable  words, 
An^  courtliness,  and  the  desire  of  fame, 

And  low  of  truth,  and  aU  that  makes  a  man." 

Tmny'im. 

As  our  party  emerged  from  the  valley  of  the^  Wis- 
sahickon,  on  their  homeward  ride,  the  sound  of  a  distant 
but  heavy  cannonade  was  heard.     Helen  looked  mqmr- 

ingly  at  Andrd.  •  i     ^r 

«at  is  no  secret  now,"  said  he  ;  "a  corps,  mamly  of 

Hessians,  under  Count  Donop,  is  attacking  Fort  Mer--, 

while  the  fleet  is  bombarding  Fort  Mifflin." 

An  anxious  look  parsed  over  the  faces  of  Pemberton 

and  his  cousin.     "God  defend  the  right  1"  exclaimed 

Morris,  fervently.  , 

-God defend  the  right !  "  repeated  Andr6,  with  equal 

fervor.  ,  .       j      •       r 

The  serious  events  of  the  day,  and  the  contmued  no.se  of 
the  cannonade,  naturally  had  a  sobering  influence  on  the 
spirits  of  all.     They  could  not  laugh  and  jest  when  their 
fellow  beings,  many  of  whom  on  both  sides  were  pj- 
sonally  known  to  them,  were  hazarding  their  lives  at  ^e 
musket  and  cannon' s  mouth.     And  they  rode  rapidly  for- 
ward, almost  in  perfect  silence.  _ 
As  they  curned  into  Germantown,  Lieutenant  Morns 
bade  them  good-bye,  with  many  mutually  c  ^pressed  kindly 
wishes     The  others  kept  down  the  road,  at  a  rapid  canter 
-the  noise  of  the  cannon  growing  louder  and  louder  as 
they  neared  the  city. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


83 


[II. 


deed  I  know 
ler  Heaven 
ar  a  maid, 
jse  in  man, 
amiable  words, 
re  of  fame, 
It  makes  a  man." 


Tenny.'ein. 

:he  valley  of  the  Wis- 

,  the  sound  of  a  distant 

Helen  looked  inquir- 

; ;  "a  corps,  mainly  of 
attacking  Fort  Mer'-'^'-, 
:  Mifflin." 

the  faces  of  Pemberton 
the  right  1"  exclaimed 

eated  Andr6,  with  equal 

id  the  continued  noise  of 
)bering  influence  on  the 
ugh  and  jest  when  their 
n  both  sides  were  ^- 
arding  their  lives  at  tAe 
id  they  rode  rapidly  fer- 

:own,  Lieutenant  Morris 
nutually  c  ^pressed  kindly 
he  road,  at  a  rapid  canter 
ing  louder  and  louder  as 


"  I  never  saw  Morris  like  he  was  to-day,"  said  Pember- 
ton to  Isabella,  as  they  drew  up  into  a  walk  at  the  three- 
mile  run  to  breathe  their  horses  a  little.  "  Phil  is  gen- 
erally so  overflowing  with  reckless  gayety  and  good-humor. 
He  really  did  not  seem  the  same  man." 

"  His  wound,  in  weakening  him,  has  probably  affected 
his  spirits.  Did  you  observe  how  pale  he  was,  when  not 
excited  by  the  conversation  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  'did.  By  the  way,  it  was  a  little  curious, 
Bella,  that  you  and  Helen  should  have  had  the  oppor- 
tunity c<"  doing  so  g'-eat  a  service  to  a  cousin  of  mine." 

"Yes,  and  that  shows  the  necessity  of  helping  every 
one  when  you  can,  no  matter  how  great  a  stranger  he  may 
be,"  replied  Isabella.  "I  had  no  idea  when  I  heard  him 
called  Lieutenant  Morris,  tliat  it  was  your  old  crony, 
whom  you  had  so  uften  spoken  about." 

"But  you  have  not  seen  Phil  Morris,  even  yet,"  re- 
joined Pemberton.  "  This  grave  and  sentimental  young 
man  we  saw  to-day,  is  very  diff"erent  from  the  Phil  of 
whose  pranks  at  old  Benezet's  school,  I  have  so  often  told 
you— the  best  mimic,  and  most  reckless  and  daring  fellow 
in  the  whole  school.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  the  negro 
boy?" 

"  Not  that  I  remember." 

•'You  know  Benezev  is  the  kindest-hearted  and  most 
benevolent  man  in  the  whole  world." 

"I  think  he  must  be,  if  that  story  I  heard  you  tell 
about  his  feeding  the  rats  down  in  the  area  is  trae." 

"  It  is  sober  truth.  Bell.  He  used  to  feed  the  rats  regu- 
larly every  morning.  He  did  it  to  keep  them  honest. 
He  said  that  rats  only  stole  because  they  were  forced  to 
do  so  from  necessity,  and  that  his  rats  never  stole  any- 
thing. And  he  will  not  eat  poultry—he  says  it  is  like 
eating  his  neighbors." 


^^b^^^-^ 


84  pemberton; 

*'  What  a  comical  old  fellow  !  " 

"  He  is  a  saint — if  goodness  ever  made  a  man  a  saint. 
And  Phil  knew  it,  and  would  have  fcaght  for  him  any 
time— but  what  will  not  a  boy  do  for  a  joke?  " 
"What  did  he  do?" 

"Blackened  his  face  and  hands,  and  passed  himself  off 
for  a  poor  little  negro  runaway  from  Virginia,  in  the 
sight  of  the  whole  school.  Benezet  is  a  great  hater  of 
slavery,  you  know.  Oh,  but  the  whoppers  that  Phil  told 
of  the  way  he  had  been  abused  down  South — while  we, 
boys,  knowing  the  jcke,  roared  with  laughter." 

"  I  should  think  that  Ut.  Benezet  would  have  sub;:,ected 
something  from  your  merriment." 

"  He  is  too  sincere  and  guileless  for  that.  He  was  in- 
expressible shocked  by  it  however— though  he  could 
hardly  credit  such  boyish  heartlessness,  save  by  imputing 
it  to  the  hardening  effect  of  '  the  wicked  system*  upon  our 
youthful  minds." 

"  Did  h^^  find  out  the  deception?  " 
"  Never — to  this  day.     Though  he  could  not  account 
for  the  suddtn  disappearance  of  the  injured  negro,  save 
by  supposing  he  had  been  seized  by  some  minion  of  his 
master,  and  carried  back  into  slavery." 

"  I  confess  I  should  never  have  accused  Mr.  Morris  of 
any  such  pronk  as  that,"  said  Isabella.  "  He  seemed  to- 
day as  sober  as  a  judge.  But  there  is  a  great  difference 
between  beiig  sick  and  well.  'A  little  blood  in  the  veins 
more  or  less,  I  once  heard  my  father  say,  'often  makes 
the  difference  between  the  saint  and  the  sinner.'  " 

«*I  fear,"  replied  Pemberton,  smiling,  "  however  true 

that  saying  may  be  in  a  general  way,  that  in  Phil's  case, 

his  unusual  seriousness  is  owing  quite  as  much  to  Cupid's 

arrow  in  his  heart,  as  to  the  British  ball  in  his  shoulder." 

"  If  so,  you  had  better  warn  him  at  once,"  replied  Isa- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


85 


er  made  a  man  a  saint, 
ive  fcaght  for  him  any 
for  a  joke?" 

,  and  passed  himself  off 
from  Virginia,  in  the 
zet  is  a  great  hater  of 
whoppers  that  Phil  told 
down  South — while  we, 
ith  laughter." 
set  would  have  sua  i-ected 

ss  for  that.  He  was  in- 
;ver — -though  he  could 
jsness,  save  by  imputing 
vicked  system'  upon  our 

1?" 

1  he  could  not  account 

the  injured  negro,  save 
i  by  some  minion  of  his 
very." 

'^e  accused  Mr.  Morris  of 
ibella.  "  He  seemed  to- 
ere  is  a  great  difference 
\.  little  blood  in  the  veins 

father  say,  '  often  makes 
md  the  sinner.'  " 
,  smiling,  "  however  true 

way,  that  in  Phil's  case, 
quite  as  much  to  Cupid's 
;ish  ball  in  his  shoulder." 
lim  at  once,"  replied  Isa- 


bella, earnestly.     "  Helen  could  never  love  a  rebel ;  and, 
besides — you  have  eyes,  Arthur." 

*  I  shall  take  the  first  opportunity  to  enlighten  Phil," 
said  Pemberton.  "  I  love  him  too  well  to  have  him  suffer 
with  heartache." 

"And  I  will  caution  Helen.  She  does  not  mean  to 
flirt,  and  she  does  not  exactly  flirt ;  but  to  fling  about  the 
bright  sparkles  of  her  eyes,  and  to  captivate  men  with  the 
tones  of  her  voice,  and  the  thrilling  touches  of  her  hand, 
seems  to  come  as  natural  to  her  as  breathing.  You  know 
it  is  natural  to  her,  Arthur." 

"  Of  course  I  do.  You  might  as  well  blame  a  rose  for 
flinging  around  its  fragrance,  or  a  star  for  twinkling.  But 
it's  a  pity  she  couldn't  carry  a  badge  on  her  breast, 
labelled  'hands  off,  this  property  is  not  for  sale.'  And 
yet  I  suppose  it  would  make  no  difference — every  moth 
still  would  fly  right  into  the  bright  fire  of  her  eyes,  and 
get  his  foolish  wings  scorched." 

"  Hush  1 "  said  Isabella,  "  they  are  coming  up  to  us." 


ft* 


4 


86 


PEMBERTON  J 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   DREAM   OF   ANDRE. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that  there  exist  mch  voli 
i.i  Yet  would  I  not  call  thiise 

Voices  of  wwrmV. 'I'a'"""™"" '"  "* 
Only  the  inevitable.    As  the  sun, 
Ere  it  is  risen,  sometimes  paints  its  image 
In  the  atmosphere,  so  often  do  the  spirit! 
Of  great  cvenU  stride  on  before  the  evenU, 
And  in  to-day  already  walk,  to-morrow." 

Schiller's  H'alleHstein. 

A  HALF-HOUR'S  gentle  canter,  and  our  party  drew  up 
once  more  at  Mrs.  Pemberton's.  Giving  their  horses  m 
charge  of  the  servants  they  entered  and  made  ready  for 
dinner-five  o'clock  being  then  as  now.  a  common  hour 
with  the  wealthier  classes  of  the  <:itizens.  Andrd  remamed 
at  Pemberton's  invitation.  .  ,  ,    .   •      i 

The  dinner  was  an  abundant  and  substantial,  but  simple 
affair      Two  courses  ;  at  the  first  a  round  of  roast  beef, 
and  the  vegetables  and  stewed  fruits  of  the  season-pota- 
toes, sweet  and  white,  turnips,  stewed  cranberries    apple 
sauce  and  cole-slaw;  for  the  second  course,  dned-peach 
pies  and  a  rice-pudding,  ending  with  nuts    and  a  cup  of 
coffee  for  those  who  desired  it.     For  drink,  there  was 
good  water-rather  a  scarce  article  in  the  world-home- 
brewed beer,  and  claret  and  Madeira  wines.     These  last 
were  very  sparingly  partaken  of-for  fifty  years  before,  the 
evils  of  intemperance  had  been  strongly  portrayed  at  pub- 
lic meetings  held  throughout  the  province-a  prohibitory 
law  in  relation  to  iiisfi7/ed  liquors  had  been  warmly  urged 
—ant'  the  «  Friends"  had  many  a  solemn  testimony  ut- 
tered'by  their  preachers  against  the  danger  of  over-indul- 
gence in  intoxicating  drinks. 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


«7 


X. 

NDRE. 

;iat  «iirh  voii 
;ctoui 


its  Image 

le  spiiits 

;he  events, 

norruw." 

''s  H'alUnstein. 


ind  our  party  drew  up 
Giving  their  horses  in 
•ed  and  made  ready  for 
IS  now,  a  common  hour 
izens.     Andr6  remained 

id  substantial,  but  simple 
it  a  round  of  roast  beef, 
nits  of  the  season— pota- 
ewed  cranberries,  apple 
ond  course,  dried-peach 
with  nuts,  and  a  cup  of 
For  drink,  there  was 
:le  in  the  world — ^home- 
.deira  wines.     These  last 
-for  fifty  years  before,  the 
trongly  portrayed  at  pub- 
;  province — a  prohibitory 
J  had  been  warmly  urged 
y  a  solemn  testimony  ut- 
the  danger  of  over-indul- 


Mrs.  Pemberton  presided  at  the  head  of  the  table.  She 
was  a  ruthur  large,  and,  for  her  years,  quite  a  comely 
woman,  with  something  of  the  air  of  a  queen  about  her, 
notwithstanding  the  severe  simplicity  of  her  Quaker  attire. 
The  smooth  and  unrufllcd  serenity  of  her  face  told  of  feel- 
ings habitually  kept  under  control.  It  was  doubtful  that 
she  could  be  easily  wounded  by  any  assault  of  fate  that  did 
not  touch  the  weak  point  in  her  smooth-shining  armor — 
her  love  for  Arthur,  her  only  remaining  child. 

Mrs.  Pemberton,  like  a  large  proportion  of  the  sect  to 
which  she  belonged,  was  intensely  loyal  in  her  feelings — 
so  much  so  that  when  the  British  entered  the  city,  she  had 
sent  to  Sir  William  Howe  her  carriage  and  horses  for  his 
own  use  while  he  remained.  This  she  could  do  conscien- 
tiously ;  but  to  contribute  in  aid  of  warlike  measures,  even 
to  benefit  the  cause  she  deemed  just,  she  would  not  do, 
under  any  pretence  whatever.  The  royal  commander 
might  take  from  her  what  he  pleased  for  such  purposes, 
and  she  would  submit — ^but  she  would  not  aid  voluntarily 
in  any  way  or  manner  in  the  shedding  of  blood.  Her  op- 
position in  fact  to  the  Colonial  cause  was  based  upon  this 
very  thing — when  the  Colonies  took  ground  that  involved 
a  resort  to  violence  and  war,  she  no  longer  sympathized 
with  them. 

Her  residence  was  called  by  many  the  Flag  House,  as  it 
was  the  only  one  belonging  to  a  citizen  which  displayed 
the  British  flag.  But  this  flag  had  been  run  up  at  first  en- 
tirely without  Mrs.  Pemberton's  knowledge.  It  was  appa- 
rently the  work  of  old  Fox.  The  late  Mr.  Pemberton  had 
been  a  large  ship-owner,  and  in  the  attic  of  the  house 
Foxey  had  found  a  collection  of  flags,  of  various  sizes. 
One  of  these  he  had  run  up  on  a  tall  but  rude  flag-staff  of 
his  own  manufacture,  when  the  British  army  entered  the 


88 


I'KMllER  TON  ; 


,,ty,  greatly  to  the  disgust  of  that  portion  o^  the  citizens 

^  Mr^rliSon  was  not.  by  any  means,  a  l.^oted 
..  Fr  nd  ••  but  still  .he  disliked  this  particular  cxh.bmon 
rV  u  .«  not  bcinK  in  accordance  with  what  she 
^S^^WL  sCSnies.-'  But,  as  it  had  been  done 
anTseemed  to  ple.se  General  Howe  very  greatly,  and  as 
her  son   cp,^^^^^^^^  to  her  that  it  really  was  a  matter  of 

V    y  Ittle  Importance,  the  ^^^  rf^^^^ '^ '^T^,,,, 
And  Fox  was  permitted  to  fly  his  flags  at  his  pleasure, 

subsdtting  one  for  another,  sometimes  a  small  one.  som  - 

tea  Urge  one,  and  sometimes  the  very  largest  he  cou  d 
y  hi^hands  on.'according  apparently  to  ^--  ^J^.^ 

Jaons  of  what  was  suitable  and  pro^.  ^^^::^t 

r:^Serrbrl;t^"rncewith^hatn^ 

T    iTvhe  exoected      But  to  return  to  our  company, 
nt  i  remCl  of  the  first  course,  which  you  may  be 
sure  a     parties  did  ample  justice  to~though  the  noise  of 
sure  all  partie  ^J^inM^d  at  intervals,  not  however  so 

the  cannonade  still  cor  .inue  p     barton  was  in- 

constant and  heavy  as  at  first-Mrs.  *^^"^°^"        .     j^ 
formed  by  her  son  of  the   particulars  of  their  day  s  riae, 
Sing'the  adventure  with  the  deserter.     She  was  of 
„r^^tW  affected.     "Poor,  misguided . men !     was 
^rcomC    u^o^Lring  of  the  tragical  fate  of  the  de- 
serters     "  If  the  riflemen  only  could  have  captured  them 
or  cUWen  them  off.  without  killing  them,  how  much  better 
it  would  have  been."  .  ,  i,,.^ 

While  Arthur  had  been  telling  his  story,  And'4  h^ 

:r/r  t'prlrf  concladed,  he  turned  ba.k 
T."hS  «  «.Mrs.  Pemberton,"  cried  he,  gaylyhand- 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   VEARS  AGO. 


«9 


portion  o'"  the  citizens 

any  means,  a  bigoted 
[lis  particular  exhibition 
)rdance   with  what  she 
[M,  as  it  had  been  done, 
)we  very  greatly,  and  as 
it  really  was  a  matter  of 
s  allowed  to  remain, 
his  flags  at  his  pleasure, 
times  a  small  one,  some- 
the  very  largest  he  could 
ently  to  his  own  African 
proper.     That  he  should 
leemed  the  greatest  ocra- 
jrdance  with  what  might 
;turn  to  our  company. 
;ourse,  which  you  may  be 
to—though  the  noise  of 
intervals,  not  however  so 
-Mrs.  Pemberton  was  in- 
culars  of  their  day's  ride, 
le  deserters.     She  was  of 
r,  misguided. men!"  was 
the  tragical  fate  of  the  de- 
;ould  have  captured  them, 
ng  them,  how  much  better 

ing  his  story,  Andr6  had 
shind  him,  on  which  stood 
o  be  sketching  something 
)ncluded,  he  turned  back 


ton,    err 


led  he,  gayly  hand- 


ing her  a  shectof  paper,  on  which  lie  had  made  a  rude  but 
iiij^iily  artistic  skou  !i.  "Ikre  is  the  roi  k.  That  is 
Helen — you  would  know  hci  by  her  defiant  expression 
and  attitude — she  has  just  blown  the  whistle.  That  is 
poor  me — half  scared  to  death.  Tliat  is  Pemberton,  look- 
ing as  grave  as  a  Quaker  preacher  in  meeting.  That's 
Isabella,  standing  erect,  like  a  queen.  And  there  up  on 
the  brow  of  the  precipice,  are  the  horrible  deserters." 

The  sketch  was  liandcd  around,  and  greatly  commended 
for  its  accuracy  and  spirit;  Helen,  in  the  end,  appropriat- 
ing it  as  her  own,  without  a  word,  and  apparently  in  the 
most  unf  onscious  manner. 

"  My  dear  children,"  said  Mrs.  Pemberton,  "we 
should  thank  the  kind  Father  for  biinging  you  assistance 
at  so  critical  a  moment.  Philip  Morris  was  but  the  in- 
strument in  His  holy  hand." 

"It  seems  to  me  though,  it  can  easily  be  accounted  for 
in  a  natural  way,"  said  Arthur  in  a  low  voice  to  Andr6, 
who  was  sitting  opposite  to  him. 

But  his  mother  caught  the  words.  "Arthur,  I  do  not 
like  to  hear  thee  say  that.  History  is  full  of  such  Provi- 
dential interpositions — especially  the  history  of  the  early 
Friends." 

"In  your  own  family.  Friend  Pemberton,"  said  Isa- 
bella, "you  have  frequently  had  such  cases,  have  you 
not?'- 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Pemberton,  evidently  em- 
barked on  a  favorite  subject;  "hand  down  that  tureen, 
Arthur,  from  the  sideboard." 

Arthur  did  so.  It  was  a  silver  tureen,  and  on  it  was 
engraved  the  device  of  a  cat  bearing  off  a  rabbit.  The 
others  had  frequently  seen  it,  but  it  Avas  new  to  Andrd, 
and  the  story  connected  with  it  was  new  to  all  but  her 
son. 

8* 


II 

'.'1 


9« 


ri-MllERTUN  ; 


j,(   ^  "When  the  first  settlers  came  to  Philadelphia,"  Mrs. 

Pembcrton  resumed,  "  in.iny  of  them  made  laves  in  tlie 
high  lunk,  on  the  river's  edge,  to  live  in,  until  they  hwi 
time  to  build  mure  comfortable  homes.  An  ancestor  of 
ours  and  of  Philip  Morris's,  when  the  dinnr.  hour  came 
one  d; ;  ,  found  she  had  nothing  left  in  the  house  to  eat, 
except  a  little  biscuit  and  chees<-  and  with  no  immediate 
prospect  of  getting  anything  muio.  Then  she  gave  way 
1:^  despondency,  and  began  to  wish  she  had  remained 
ainoii^>  the  flesh-pots  of  the  Er>giish  Egypt.  But  suddenly 
a  voice  within  seemed  to  say :  '  Didst  thou  not  come  for 
liberty  of  conscience— and  ha^t  thou  not  got  it  ?  Neither 
hast  thou  sufiered  greatly  th-is  far.'  Thci,  he  fell  on  her 
knees,  and  prayed  to  be  forgiven,  and  for  ,!  greater  meas- 
ure of  faith." 

"That  was  just  like  you  would  have  done,  my  dear 
Aunt  i'.  .chel,"  exclaii.ii  li  Isabella. 

"W'il,"  continue!  Mrs.  Pemberton,  not  displeased 
wifh  the  compliment  from  ucr  favorite  of  the  two  girls, 
"when  she  rose  frjm  Iier  kr,?»s,  and  was  going  to  seek 
for  other  foou,  her  cat  darted  into  the  cave  with  a  fine 
large  rabbit  which  it  '.ad  oauj,ht.  And  thus  our  Heavenly 
Father  answered  her  humble  petition,  and  gave  her  a 
lesson  which  she  u,  jv  furgot.  For  when,  in  after  days, 
they  became  pros^i  ous  and  wealthy,  she  had  this  tureen 
made,  and  engraved  as  you  see  it,  in  order  that  none  of 
her  descendants  might  forget  the  rock  of  their  strength,  to 
the  latest  generation. 

"  And  many  other  such  incidents  have  occurred  in  the 
history  of  our  family,"  continued  Mrs.  Pemberton,  "both 
here  and  in  the  old  world,  which  I  could  mention,  if  it 
were  necessary." 

"Mother,"  said  Pemberton  slyly,  "  how  do  you  ex- 
plain the  flash  of  lightning  last  June,  which  melted  the 


I 


to  Philadelphia,"  Mrs. 
K'tn  made  t  aves  in  tlie 

live  in,  until  they  hud 
omcs.  All  ancestor  of 
the  diniiri  hour  came 
:ft  in  the  house  to  eat, 
and  with  no  immediate 
Then  she  gave  way 
'ish  she  had  remained 

Egypt.     Dut  suddenly 

dst  thou  not  come  for 

>u  not  got  it  ?     Neither 

Th^i ,    he  fell  on  her 

md  for  ,1  greater  meas- 


have  done,  my  dear 

berton,  not  displeased 
'^orite  of  the  two  girls, 
md  was  going  to  seek 
J  the  cave  with  a  fine 
\nd  thus  our  Heavenly 
tion,  and  gave  her  a 
r  when,  in  after  days, 
y,  she  had  this  tureen 
in  order  that  none  of 
ck  of  their  strength,  to 

;  have  occurred  in  the 
[rs.  Pemberton,  "  both 
I  could  mention,  if  it 

ly,  "  how  do  you  ex- 
ne,  which  melted  the 


^>. 


..>^.  w. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4S03 


4^ 


'^ 


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I 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


\ 


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vV 


Isabi 


teref 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  9 1 

crown  on  Christ  Church  steeple  ?  Do  you  think  that  it 
meant  God's  displeasure  with  the  course  of  the  mother 
country  toward  these  colonies?" 

"I  think  it  may  have  been  intended  as  a  warning  to 
the  king,"  replied  she,  "that  unless  he  reigned  with 
greater  justice,  his  kingdom  in  this  part  of  the  world 
would  be  taken  from  him. 

"Pretty  well  answered,  I  think.  Master  Arthur,"  said 
Isabella. 

"  And  then  again,"  continued  Mu.  Pemberton,  "we 
all  know  what  happened  at  Birmingham  meeting-house. 
Years  before  the  bloody  conflict  at  Brandywine — yes, 
years  before  the  beginning  of  the  war,  one  of  our  most 
gifted  ministers,  enlightened  by  the  Word,  predicted  not 
only  the  coming  on  of  the  contest,  but  how  that  very 
place  would  be  the  scene  of  frightful  carnage,  how  the 
blood  would  be  spattered  red  on  the  horses'  bridles  and 
housings,  and  that  very  house  itself  be  filled  with  the 
wounded  and  the  slain  !  " 

"  He  did?"  said  Helen,  her  face  glowing  with  her  in- 
terest in  the  subject. 

"Yes,  I  believe  that  is  so,"  responded  Arthur.  "But 
I  also  remember  how  another  very  eloquent  minister,  the 
Rev.  Morgan  Edwards — " 

"  He  is  not  a  Friend,"  interrupted  his  mother;  "  he  is 
a  hireling  minister.     It  is  a  different  case  entirely." 

"  But,  mother,  let  me  go  on,"  said  Arthur,  laughing.  "  I 
admit  that  he  is  not  a  Friend — ^but  he  was  always  consid- 
ered a  very  worthy,  conscientious  and  sincere  man.  The 
Rpv.  Morgan  Edwards  was  persuaded  that  he  had  received 
a  warning  from  above — a.  kind  of  inward  monition,  mo- 
ther— that  he  was  about  to  die,  and  on  a  certain  day,  at 
a  certain  hour.  He  felt  so  sure  of  it  that  he  announced 
it  from  his  pulpit.     It  made  a  great  sensation,  of  course. 


*! 


g2  pemberton; 

When  the  fotefiil  day  came  his  house  was  crowded.  He 
breathed  slowly.  Everybody  was  expectant.  You  co-ild 
hear  the  big  clock  tick  The  minutes  wore  on.  He 
breathed  slower  and  slower.  Every  moment,  he  thought, 
would  be  his  last.  But  he  could  not  die  1  And,  greatly 
to  his  own  vexation  and  disappointment,  and  the  vexa- 
tion and  disappointment  of  his  numerous  friends  and  ad- 
mirers, the  dreaded  minutes  passed  on ;  the  hour  passed 
over;  the  day  passed  c/er— and  here  twenty  years  arc 
gone,   and    the  reverend    gentleman    is  still  alive  and 

frisky." 

"  If  I  had  been  he,  I  would  have  taken  laudanum, 

said  Helen,  in  a  mortified  tone.  / 

"  Of  course  it  killed  him,  in  one  sense,  if  not  in  an- 
other," continued  Pemberton.  "His  congregation  lost 
all  faith  in  his  spiritual  discernment ;  and  he  left  the  city 
in  disgust.  Now,  that  he  was  earnest  and  sincere,  is 
proven  by  the  whole  course  of  the  affair.  What  have  you 
to  say  about  these  matters,  Andr6?  you  have  not  spoken  a 
word  for  the  last  half  hour.  Are  you  a  believer  or  a  dis- 
believer?" ,, 

"  Captain  Andr6  is  not  a  disbeliever,  I  will  warrant, 
said  Helen.     "  Aunt  Rachel,   you  must  take  Arthur  to 
meeting  ^/ith  you  more  regularly.     He  is  getting  quite 
Frenchified." 

Andr6  had  been  sitting  very  quietly,  as  Pemberton  had 
said,  but  was  evidently  an  attentive  listener  to  the  conversa- 
tion.    Now  he  took  a  sip  of  wine,  and  said  in  a  low  and 

musing  tone : 

"  I  know  not  what  to  say.  There  is  so  much  evidence 
on  both  sides.  But  I  will  also  tell  a  story— an  anecdote 
of  what  happened  to  young  Percy,  the  very  day  he  was 
killed  at  Brandywine.  I  had  it  from  his  servant,  after  the 
battle. 


was, 

Ikn 

geth 

unte 

He\ 

desci 

walli 

gene 

abou 

took 

cans 

each 
<( 

said 
(< 

stom 
(t 

colui 
of  tl 
awail 
"( 
"bn 

relig: 
<< 

reine 
eye  > 
and 
pastil 
little 
Bran 
sunsl 
Hele 
") 


crowded.  He 
It.  You  CO' lid 
wore  on.  He 
nt,  he  thouglit, 
And,  greatly 
,  and  the  vexa- 
friends  and  ad- 
he  hour  passed 
renty  years  arc 
still  alive  and 

m  laudanum," 

e,  if  not  in  an- 
ngregation  lost 
he  left  the  city 
and  sincere,  is 
What  have  you 
ve  not  spoken  a 
eliever  or  a  dis- 

I  will  warrant," 
take  Arthur  to 
is  getting  quite 

Pemberton  had 
to  the  jonversa- 
lid  in  a  low  and 

I  much  evidence 
ry — an  anecdote 
/ery  day  he  was 
iervant,  after  the 


r 


pk,    ONE    HUNDRED 


*ard  what  a  splenu. 
• ;  "so  kind,  so  noble, 
many  a  pleasant  talk  wc  ii. 
m  the  head  of  Elk.     He  was  a 
d  rode  with  whom  it  pleased  him. 
iniform,  and  looked  and  rode  as  a 
iotspur  should.     He  was  in  Corn- 
'\at  long,  well-planned  march  of  the 
to  the  flai'ik  of  Wtushington's  army 
on.     They  absolutely  stopped  and 
about  two  miles  from  the  Ameri- 
-  ....1  concealing  the  two  armies  from 

s  not  very  wise  nor  prudent," 


"You  may  h: 
was,"  continued 
I  knew  him  well 
gether  on  our  w 
nnteer,  you  kno 
He  wore  a  hand; 
descendant  of  H 
wallis's  division,  ...k 
general's  brought  tht 
about  two  in  the  afte 
took  a  comfortable  dii 
cans ;  only  the  rise  of .. 
each  other's  view." 

"I  should  think  tl. 
said  Isabella. 

"  Perhaps  not — but  hard   fighting  on  an  empty 

stomach — and  the  result  j       "ed  it,"  rei)lied  Andr6. 

"At  four  o'clock,"  coi        "d  he,  sadly,  "the  British 
column  ascended  the  inter  hill,  and  came  in  sight 

of  the  American  position,  t         troops  all  in  line,  and 
awaiting  the  onset." 

"Oh,   it   is   horrible!"   exci         ^   Mrs.  Pemberton — 
"  brothers  thirsting  for  brothers'  I  Where  was  your 

religion — where  your  common  huma        "" 

"As  Percy  came  to  the  brow  of  u     '  •'"    he  suddenly 
reined  in  his  steed,  and  gazed  with  a  cu.  questioning 

eye  over  the  scene  before  him.     There  v  entle  hill 

and  dale,  interspersed  with  dark  patches  <  ',  green 

pastures  and  low,  gray  farm-houses ;  and,  ja>'.  s»ic^  in  a 
little  opening  on  the  right,  the  glittering  wa;     ;  ;.-'  .he 
Brandywine,  flowing  peacefully  and  quietly  in  the    '      ■"%' 
sunshine.     I  stood  afterward  in  the  very  same  spot, 
Helen." 

"Well  ?"  said  Helen,  breathlessly. 


I 


ifl 


I.H 


W- 


^'Il,-: 


rEMBERTON ; 

Calling  his  servant  to  his  side, 
waleh  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  it 
David,'  said  he,  '  and  give  it  to  m) 
berland.     1  have  seen  this  hill  and 
before;    in   a  dream,   in   England 
And'— taking  his  purse  from  his 
yourself.'     Tliat  was  all  he  said- 
rode  on.     In  the  midst  of  the  figl 
for  the  possession  of  the  graveyar 
ing-house,  Percy  fell.     That  is  a 
his  hand  over  his  forehead. 

"  May  he  sleep  in  peace  amid 
wine  !"  said  Pemberton,  soler 

"  And  God  comfort  his  si 
when  the  sad  news  comes," 
"  It  reminds  me  of  m 


^ 


•y  took  his  gold 
H    .   in      '  Take  tliis, 
.1  far  Northum- 
and  landscape 
0   I   shall   die! 
— '  take  this  for 
word.     Then  he 
that  fierce  contest 
Birmingham  meet- 
aid  Andre,  passing 

quiet  hills  of  Brandy- 
far  Northumberland, 
.abella. 
dream — one  that  I  have 
,md,  and  again  nearly  two 
,mied  Andre,  with  a  touch  of 
Jreamy  look  in  his  dark  eyes. 
.     J,  and  I  awakened  on  both  occa- 
so'rrowful.     And  yet  there  was 
i,     I  thought  I  was  riding  alone, 
At  length  I  came  to  a  gentle  de- 
/hich  seemed  to  flow  a  littl^  stream, 
oeautiful  and  quite  peculiar,  and  I 


dreamed  twice,  once  n 
years  ago  in  Lancaster 
sadness  in  his  tones,  r 
"  It  was  a  very  vivid 
sions   feeling    inte 
nothing  very  sorrow^ 
along  a  country  r 
clivity,  at  the  fo< 

The  landscapr  w^ •— -^         - 

should  knov  once  if  I  ever  really  saw  such  a  scene 

On  one  s' '         che  ror.  1,  a  little  distance  from  it,  towered 
a  maie-  -     At  the  .icrth,  they  call  them  Whitewood ; 

YO-  m  Tulip  Poplars.     But  this  was  immense  ;  its 

mu.         ould  think  nearly  thirty  feet  around;  and  its 
'•  the  size  of  ordinary  trees.     But  the  great  pecuh- 
,     of  the  tree  was  its  gnarled  and  fantastic  branches, 
ich  twisted  down  in  places  almost  to  the  earth,  and  then 
ose  again.    While  I  was  gazing  at  it,  a  soldier  m  British 


"C 

voice, 

suscep 

tree  oi 

ing  al 

Death 

giant 

'  Halt 

nation 

fancy 

a  poet 

will  hi 

vcntui 

wearii 

bargai 

fulfihi 

Hel 
bcrtor 
Why, 
for  yo 
compc 
basket 

"I 
himse 
are  n< 


t   , 


OU,    ONE    IH'NPRKD    YKAKS    AOO. 


95 


took  his  goll 
'Take  tliis, 
.1  far  Northum- 
and  landscape 
;   I   shall   die! 
-'  take  this  for 
ord.     Then  he     . 
It  fierce  contest 
niingham  nieet- 
Andr6,  passing 

hills  of  Brandy- 
Northumberland, 

me  that  I  have 
gain  nearly  two 
with  a  touch  of 
n  his  dark  eyes. 
;d  on  both  occa- 
yet   there  was 
vas  riding  alone, 
I  to  a  gentle  de- 
if  a  littl^  stream, 
peculiar,  and  I 
aw  such  a  scene, 
from  it,  towered 
lem  Whitewood ; 
vas  immense ;  its 
around;  and  its 
the  great  peculi- 
ntastic  branches, 
>e  earth,  and  then 
soldier  in  British 


uniform  suddenly  stepped  out  from  the  side  of  the  road, 
presented  his  uui.-,ket  at  my  breast,  and  cried  '  Halt !'  At 
liie  sound,  on  both  occasions,  I  awoke.  If  I  ever  see  that 
spot,  that  tree,  and  hear  that  voice,  I  sliall  feel  iis  Percy 
felt  at  Brandy  wine." 

An(lr6  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand.  He  evidently 
had  been  deeply  impressed  by  the  prophetic  vision,  as  he 
deemed  it.  Helen  rose  from  the  table  to  conceal  her  sym- 
pathetic agitation. 

"Come  now,  Andr6,"  cried  Pemberton  in  a  cheery 
voice,  "  you  are  giving  us  all  the  dismals.  That  dream  is 
susceptible  of  two  explanations.  Your  tree  was  the  great 
tree  of  Life,  Ygdrasil,  which  you  had  probably  been  read- 
ing about  in  some  old  Norse  fable ;  and  the  soldier  was 
Death,  who  is  certain  to  start  out  even  from  under  the  very 
giant  and  twisted  branches  of  the  tree  of  life,  and  cry 
'  Halt '  to  all  of  us — and  this  is  the  most  reasonable  expla- 
nation, and  does  credit  to  your  involuntary  powers  of 
fancy  and  invention,  making  me  think  you  even  more  of 
a  poet  and  artist  than  I  thought  you  before.  Or,  if  you 
will  have  the  dream  more  literally  fulfilled — here  is  our  ad- 
venture of  to-day,  with  big  trees  enough,  and  soldiers 
wearing  British  uniforms  too,  and  crying  '  halt '  into  the 
bargain.  Your  dream  came  to-d.ny  as  near  an  accurate 
fulfilment  as  dreams  are  apt  to  come,  I  fancy." 

Helen's  face  brightened.-  "Yes,  Mr.  Andr6,  Mr.  Pem- 
berton has  explained  all  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner. 
Why,  Arthur,  you  are  a  second  Daniel ;  and  here  is  a  kiss 
for  your  reward" — tossing  him  one  of  those  sweet  little 
compositions,  so  appropriately  named,  out  of  the  cake- 
basket. 

"  I  shall  try  to  think  so,  at  least,"  said  Andr6,  rousing 
himself  to  gayety,  as  with  an  effort,  "  for  such  foiebodings 
are  not  inspiriting  to  a  soldier.     And,  apropos  to  all  this, 


.IT' 


,%%« 


g6  pemherton; 

would  you  not,  ladies,  like  to  visit  the  famous  witch,  con- 
jurer, sorceress,  astrologess,  and  fortune-teller,  Madame 
Dumont,  who  has  been  making  so  nuu  h  talk  lately  ? 
Tarleton  has  been  there,  and  even  he,  who  believes  in 
nothing  he  cannot  see  and  hear,  is  puzzled.  Miss  Ship- 
pen  says  she  predicts  the  most  curious  career  for  her. 
Miss  Franks  says  she  is  the— bad  one.  While  Miss  Vining 
keeps  a  silence  which  is  more  significant  than  words.  Let 
us  all  go." 

"Suppose  we  do,"  said  Pemberton. 
"  I  do  not  approve  of  such  tampering  with  sacred  things, 
John,"  said  Mrs.  Pemberton.  "If  the  spirit  wants  to 
speak,  it  will  speak ;  but  I  think  it  wicked,  and  even  dan- 
gerous, to  have  anything  to  do  with  witches  and  those  who 
have  familiar  spirits. 

"  But,  Aunt  Rachel,  we  should  not  have  the  least  faith 
in  her;  and  it  would  be  such  rare  fun,"  remonstrated 
Helen. 

"Well,  we  can  decide  about  it  another  time,"  said 
Andrd,  who  did  not  wish  needlessly  to  controvert  Mrs. 
Pemberton's  strong  religious  convictions  upon  the  subject. 
"  I  still  hear  the  cannon  booming  at  intervals,  and  think 
I  had  better  go  up  to  headquarters  to  learn  what  has  been 
going  on  to-day." 

"  I  will  go  along,"  said  Pemberton.  "  I  also  feel  anx- 
ious to  hear ;  and  even  the  ladies,  doubtless,  would  like  to 
know  that  all  their  friends  are  safe,  before  retiring." 

The  gentlemen  left.  But  in  half  an  hour  Pemberton 
returned,  with  a  face  in  which  joy  and  grief  blended.  He 
brought  back  word  that  the  Hessians,  under  Count  Donop, 
had  been  repulsed  in  their  attack  on  Fort  Mercer,  with 
great  slaughter.  The  British  ships,  also,  had  been  able  to 
make  no  impression  on  Fort  Mifflin,  while  two  of  the  ves- 
sels, the  Merlin  and  Augusta,  were  aground,  and  might 


have 

on  ei 

Pe 

eyes 

self  ( 

a  dec 

of  e? 

lovcc 
(( ' 

bertc 
ditio 
of  hi 
Heh 
conti 
hous' 
sad 
offic( 
and 
Euro 
an  o 
W 
day, 
had 
nigh 
thee 
start 
thef 
ana 


.■'^s 


lous  witch,  con- 
■tullcr,  Madame 
ch  talk  lately  ? 
ivho  believes  in 
a\.  Miss  Ship- 
career  for  her. 
hile  Miss  Vining 
lan  words.     Let 


th  sacred  things, 

spirit  wants  to 

1,  and  even  dan- 

es  and  those  who 

ve  the  least  faith 
1,"  remonstrated 

ther  time,"  said 
controvert  Mrs. 
upon  the  subject, 
ervals,  and  think 
rn  what  has  been 

"  I  also  feel  anx- 
ess,  would  like  to 
e  retiring." 

hour  Pemberton 
ief  blended.  He 
ier  Count  Donop, 
'"ort  Mercer,  with 

had  been  able  to 
ile  two  of  the  ves- 
round,  and  might 


OK,    ONE   HUNDRED    VEAKS    A  '■(». 


97 


have  to  be  abandoned.     None  of  their  immediate  friends, 
on  either  side,  were  injured, 

Pemberton's  face  glowed  as  he  told  this ;  while  Isabella's 
eyes  shone  triumphantly  in  sympathy.  Helen  threw  her- 
self on  a  sofa  and  shed  tears,  while  Mrs.  Pemberton  gave 
a  deep  sigh.  Nothing  wa.s  said,  hcvever,  on  the  one  side 
of  exultation,  on  the  other  of  an^'cr  or  regret— they  a)', 
loved  and  respected  each  other  too  much  for  that. 

"I  also  was  deeply  pained  tc  learn,"  continued  Pem- 
berton, "that  Count  Donop,  who  commanded  the  expe- 
dition, now  lies  mortally  wounded,  and  a  prisoner.  One 
of  his  officers  had  just  brought  the  news  to  General  Howe. 
He  had  obtained  permission  to  visit  the  count,  after  the 
contest.  The  latter  lay  dying,  in  a  neighboring  farm- 
house. He  seemed  to  feel  ashamed  and  mortified  at  this 
sad  close  of  a  brilliant  life.  He  said,  bitterly,  to  the 
officer,  "  And  here  ends,  early  and  ingloriously,  my  proud 
and  ambitious  career.  I  have  moved  in  half  the  courts  of 
Europe,  and  am  now  dying  here  ignobly,  in  the  house  of 
an  obscure  Quaker." 

Weary  with  their  ride  and  the  exciting  events  of  the 
day,  the  ladies  retired  early  to  rest— thankful  that  they 
had  no  visitors.  Whenever  they  awakened  through  the 
night  they  could  still  hear  at  intervals  the  sad  booming  of 
the  cannon.  And  the  next  morning  the  whole  city  was 
startled  by  a  tremendous  explosion.  A  red-hot  shot  from 
the  fort  had  set  the  Augusta,  a  large  64-gun  ship,  on  fire, 
ana  she  had  blown  up ! 


'  1  ill 


«g  PEMBEkTON ; 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FORTUNE   TELLER. 

We  hear  the  slow  and  solemn  steps  of  Doom 
Apprcachins  through  the  corridors  of  Time. 
They  echo  through  our  dreams. 

The  young  people  persevered  in  their  projected  visit  to 
Madame  Dumont,  notwithstanding  Mrs.  Pemberton  s  sen- 
sible  objection.     For  Helen  and  Andr6.  anything  of  the 
kind  had  a  peculiar  fascination  ;  while  Pemberton  regarded 
divination  as  a  curious  study,  and  worthy  of  sufficient  in- 
vestigation to  ascertain  whether  there  was  even  a  single 
spark  of  light-giving  fire  among  ^-^^^-Vri' 
smoke.      Isabella  was  very  much  of  Mrs.   Pemberton  s 
opinion-but,  if  the  others  went,  she  would  go  also 
%hey  went    by    appointment.      And  Pemberton   had 
taken  great  care  that  the  alleged  sorceress  should  not  have 
the  slightest  intimation  as  to  who  would  constitute  the 
party      He  had  even  loaned  Andr6  one  of  his  own  coats 
in  order  that  it  might  not  be  known  that  he  was  a  soldier^ 
The  night  was  dark  and  gusty  when  they  set  forth,  with 
some  indications  in  the  west  of  an  approaching  storm. 
But  as  all  the  arrangements  had  been  made,  and  as  the 
ladies  had  arrayed  themselves  in  their  oldest  and  com- 
monest dresses,  in  order  to  conceal  even  their  social  rank, 
they  cared  comparatively  little  for  a  drenching. 

Philadelphia,  at  that  time,  though  the  largest  and  weal- 
thiest city  in  the  colonies,  contained  only  about  thirty 
thousand  inhabitants.  It  was  built  up  with  tolerab  e  com- 
pactness along  the  Delaware,  from  South  to  CallowhiU 
Street,  and  as  far  west  as  Fourth  Street ;  beyond  Fourth-- 
the  houses  were  few  and  scattered.  The  State  House  and 
Walnut  Street  jail  were  on  the  outskirts.     The  streets  were 


gcneri 

terns 

sary. 

the  ci 

were 

ferent 

city  0 

Ma 
seven 
Whet 
of  evi 
haunt 
had  1 
by  ro 
came 
tainei 
babl) 
was  ( 
supei 

It 


bert 
folic 


j^-  'If- 


OR,    ONE    HUNDKKl)    YKAKS    AC.O. 


99 


ojected  visit  to 
imberton's  sen- 
nything  of  the 
jerton  regarded 
3f  sufficient  in- 
?  even  a  single 
lick  volumes  of 
■s.   Pemberton's 
d  go  also. 
Pemberton   had 
should  not  have 
1  constitute  the 
jf  his  own  coats 
he  was  a  soldier. 
;y  set  forth,  with 
roaching  storm, 
nade,  and  as  the 
oldest  and  com- 
their  social  rank, 
ching. 

largest  and  weal- 
mly  about  thirty 
th  tolerable  com- 
ith  to  Callowhill 
beyond  Fourth — 
;  State  House  and 
The  streets  were 


generally  unpaved,  and  to  a  great  degree  unlightcd— lan- 
terns being  carried  at  niglit  by  the  citizens  when  neces- 
sary. Dock  creek  ran  up  into  and  through  the  heart  of 
the  city,  requiring  numerous  bridges.  At  one  time  there 
were  as  many  as  a  dozen  of  them.  It  was  a  totally  dif- 
ferent place  from  the  well-paved,  well-lighted,  immense 
city  of  to-day. 

Madame  Dumont  had  taken  a  house  out  Walnut  Street, 
several  squares  beyond  the  inclosure  of  the  State  House. 
Whether  she  had  chosen  it  purposely  or  not,  it  wxs  a  house 
of  evil  repute,  inasmuch  as  it  had  the  reputation  of  being 
haunted.  It  had  been  the  residence  of  a  man  whose  wife 
had  been  murdered — by  whom,  no  one  knew.  He  said, 
by  robbers.  He  was  himself  suspected,  but  the  case  never 
came  to  trial,  for  want  of  proof.  The  fortune-teller  ob- 
tained it  cheaply,  for  no  one  else  would  live  in  it.  Pro- 
bably its  reputation  was  also  an  inducement  to  her.  It 
was  calculated  to  surround  her  with  an  atmosphere  of  the 
supernatural. 

It  wa.s  after  eight  o'clock  when  our  party  set  out.  The 
evening,  as  we  have  said,  was  dark  and  gusty  ;  and  they 
made  their  way  over  the  uneven  side-paths,  up  Chestnut 
Street,  over  the  Dock  creek  bridge,  and  then  along  Fourth 
to  Walnut.  Turning  up  Walnut,  they  entered  into  almost 
the  open  country.  Passing  along  the  high  stone  wall  of 
the  State  House  yard — then  full  of  cedar  bushes,  its 
stately  elms  and  other  noble  trees  as  yet  unplanted — 
they  came  opposite  the  Walnut  Street  Prison.  Occasional 
lights  were  flickering  through  its  grated  windows;  but, 
in  the  main,  its  huge  front  was  dark  and  stern  and  cheer- 
less. 

"  That  is  Cunningham's  little  hell!"  exclaimed  Pem- 
berton, bitterly,  turning  his  head  back  toward  Andr6,  who 
followed  with  Helen.     "  Sir  William  Howe  looks  and 


lOO 


PEMIIERTON 


talks  like  a  generous,  pcnial  man,  Imt  how  siir  h  a  man  ran 
allow  a  fniil  <lcii  like  tliat,  and  tolerate  su(  h  a  monster  as 
Cunningiiani,  is  a  mystery  to  me." 

•'  Between  ydii  and  mc,  Pemhcrton,  it  is  a  mystery  to 
me  also,"  replitd  Andre.  "  If  I  had  the  power,  or  if  Gen- 
eral (;rey,  stern  as  he  is,  had  it,  Cunningham  would  not 
retain  his  place  an  hour.  He  knows  it  too — he  would 
have  cursed  me  only  yesterday,  to  my  face,  had  he  dared." 

"Did  you  offend  him?"  (jueried  Helen. 

"Yes,  for  common  humanity  always  offends  him.  I 
was  passing  the  prison,  when  who  should  come  along  but 
Captain  Cunningham,  with  a  party  of  jmsoncrs.  One  of 
them,  I  declare,  IVmberton,  was  not  more  than  fiftiien— a 
mere  hoy  !  He  was  crying  bitterly.  He  had  accompanied 
the  detachment  in  a  boyish  love  of  sport  and  excitement 
— and  here  he  was." 

"  Of  course  you  interfered?  "  said  Isabella.  "  I  know 
you  did  it." 

"  It  was  mere  common  humanity,"  replied  Andri. 
"The  boy  told  me  of  his  father  ami  his  ])oor  mother  at 
home,  who  did  not  know  where  he  was ;  and  I  told  him 
to  be  of  good  cheer,  I  would  see  what  I  could  do  for  him. 
The  little  fellow  was  comforted,  and  hushed  his  crying — 
while  Cunningham  looked  on,  black  as  night.  I've  no 
doubt,"  continued  AndrtS  laughing,  "the  Provost  would 
have  helped  to  hang  me  at  that  moment,  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction." 

"  Did  you  get  the  boy  released?  "  inquired  Helen. 

"  Of  course — at  once.  General  Howe  said  he  would 
give  Cunningham  a  talking  to  for  such  doings — but  I  am 
afraid  that  that  will  be  the  end  of  it.  Sir  William  has 
but  one  fault,  as  a  soldier  and  a  man,  he  loves  his  ease 
rather  too  much." 

Helen  clasped  closer  the  arm  she  held.     Perhaps  it  was 


how  siif  h  a  man  ran 
:c  su(  h  a  monster  as 

I,  it  is  a  mystery  to 
Ik:  power,  or  if  (len- 
iiingliam  would  not 
vs  it  too — he  would 
face,  had  he  dared." 
klen. 

lys  offends  him.  I 
)uld  come  along  but 
jmsoncrs.  One  of 
more  than  fifteen — a 
-Ic  had  accompanied 
iport  and  excitement 

Isabella.     "I  know 

ty,"  replied  Andrd. 
his  ])oor  mother  at 
was ;  anil  I  told  him 
t  I  could  do  for  him. 
hushed  his  crying — 
:  as  night.  I've  no 
"  the  Provost  would 
ent,  with  the  greatest 

inquired  Helen, 
lowe  said  he  would 
ich  doings — but  I  am 
it.     Sir  William  has 
in,  he  loves  his  ease 

leld.    Perhaps  it  was 


OR,    ONE   IIIINDRKI)   VKARS   AGO.  lOI 

owing  to  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  the  increasing 
roughness  of  the  way  ;  but  Andre  thought  not. 

••Takecareatthisgulley— go  slowly,"  cried  Pember- 
ton.  "It  runs  down  through  the  Potter's  Field.*  You 
cannot  sec  the  newly-turned  earth  by  this  light,  and  the 
long  line  of  pits.  Hundreds  of  American  prisoners  arc 
being  carried  weekly  out  of  the  hospitals,  and  out  of 
that  hideous  jail,  and  crowded  like  dead  dogs  into  those 

holes." 

<'See!  what  is  that?"  whispered  Isabella,  as  a  tall, 
ghostly-looking  figure  in  white  rose  up  from  among  the 

graves. 

They  all  were  startled.  It  was  evidently  coming  toward 
them.  Tiien  Pemberton  laughed.  "  It  is  only  crazy 
Leah,"  said  he.  "She  has  a  habit  of  sleeping  there  at 
times-— she  says,  to  keep  off  the  doctors." 

"  It  would  drive  me  crazy  to  meet  her  here  alone,  on 
such  anight  as  this,"  said  Helen.  "I  should  think  it 
was  the  ghost  of  that  Miss  Carpenter  who  committed  sui- 
cide." ^  ^., 

"  You  should  be  above  that,"  replied  Pemberton.  1 
like  the  spirit  shown  by  her  relatives,  the  Carpenters  and 
the  Storys.  When  they  found  she  could  not,  poor  unfor- 
tunate !  be  buried  in  consecrated  earth,  they  walled  in 
that  little  inclosure  for  a  family  ground—and  there  she, 
and  many  others  of  her  family,  lie  buried." 

"  That  was  noble  !  "  exclaimed  Andr6.  "  I  have  c/a-n 
wondered  what  that  little  walled  inclosure  in  the  centre 
of  the  field  meant.     There   is  something  grand  about 

that." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  there  is,"  said  Helen;  "but  what  with 
all  this  talk  about  graves  and  suicide,  and  this  dismal 


•  Now  Washington  Squan. 


102 


r EMBERTON  ; 


How  much  further 


night,  I  iiui  hiilf-frightcncd  already, 
is  it,  Arthur?" 

"  We  are  nearly  there.  Now,  not  a  word  as  to  who  we 
arc,  or  that  will  give  her  the  slightest  clue  in  any  direc- 
tion." 

Pushing  back  a  gate,  Pemberton  led  the  way  up  to 
the  house.  He  knocked  at  the  door.  There  was  no  re- 
sponse.    He  knocked  again. 

"Why  don't  she  come?"  said  Helen,  in  a  whisper. 
"This  is  an  awfully  ghostly  place.  And  hear  how  the 
wind  whistles." 

A  step,  at  last,  was  heard  inside,  approaching  the  door. 
A  light  gleamed,  and  the  door  opened.  A  tall  negress 
received  them,  and  led  the  way  into  a  medium-sized 
room,  hung  with  alternate  breadths  of  some  blue  and 
criMson  stuff,  and  from  the  ceiling  of  which  a  large  silver 
lamp  depended.  Under  the  lamp,  which  seemed  fed  with 
some  kind  of  aromatic  oil,  judging  from  the  heavy  per- 
fume, as  of  mock-orange,  which  pervaded  the  apartment, 
stood  a  round  table  covered  with  a  crimson  cloth.  On 
the  table  were  several  richly-bound  volumes,  and  what 
seemed  a  brass  triangle,  whose  flat  sides  were  marked  with 
various  cabalistic  figures.  At  the  end  of  the  room  stood 
what  appeared  to  be  an  altar,  with  three  unlighted  wax 
candles  upon  it. 

After  requesting  them,  more  by  a  motion  than  bywords, 
to  seat  themselves  on  a  richly-draped  settee  or  lounge,  the 
negress  left  them. 

"Well,"  said  Pemberton,  in  a  low  but  amused  voice, 
"  this  is  the  thing  exactly.  This  is  just  what  I  wanted  to 
see— a  regular  witch's  den  of  these  modern  days.  Let  me 
see  what  these  books  are,"  continued  he,  stepping  to  the 
table.  "  Oh,  yes,  the  genuine  articles—'  Hidon's  Temple 
of  Wisdom,'  'Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchraft,'  and  '  Cor- 


ly.     How  much  further 

lot  a  word  as  to  who  we 
;htest  cluf  in  any  direc- 

ton  led  the  way  up  to 
[oor.     There  was  no  re- 

d  Helen,  in  a  whisper. 
;e.     And  hear  how  the 

;,  approaching  the  door, 
opened.  A  tall  negress 
ly  into  a  medium-sized 
iths  of  some  blue  and 
g  of  which  a  large  silver 
),  which  seemed  fed  with 
ng  from  the  heavy  per- 
lervaded  the  apartment, 
h  a  crimson  cloth.  On 
und  volumes,  and  what 
t  sides  were  marked  with 
i  end  of  the  room  stood 
krith  three  unlighted  wax 

'  a  motion  than  by  words, 
,ped  settee  or  lounge,  the 

a  low  but  amused  voice, 
1  is  just  what  I  wanted  to 
36  modern  days.  Let  me 
nued  he,  stepping  to  the 
tides—'  Hidon's  Temple 
,f  Witchraft,'  and  '  Cor- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


10? 


Now  for  the 


nelius  Agrippa  on  Necromancy,'  of  course, 
witch  herself.     I  hope — " 

His  remarks  weiO  cut  short  by  a  most  unearthly  shriek, 
which  caused  the  ladies,  and  even  Andre,  to  start  from 
their  seats  in  horror,  followed,  as  it  was,  by  the  terrible 
cry  of — 

"  Help  !  help  !  murder !  mur— dei !     Oh !  oh !" 

Isabella  grew  pale,  Helen  almost  shrieked  herself,  and 
Andrd  laid  his  hand  where  he  was  accustomed  to  find  the 
hilt  of  his  sword.  Hearing  a  slight  rustle,  Pemberton 
turned  his  eyes  toward  one  of  the  windows  from  near  which 
the  cry  had  seemed  to  come,  and  then  walking  to  it, 
drew  aside  the  heavy  fold  of  a  curtain. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  ladies;  it  is  only  a  cockatoo," 
said  he,  smiling. 

They  gathered  around  him,  while  the  cockatoo,  having 
displayed  his  powers  to  his  satisfaction,  gave  vent  to  his 
delight  by  a  low  chuckle.  It  was  a  beautiful  bird — large, 
with  dove-colored  feathers  and  white  crest — but  singular 
withal,  as  its  breast  and  shoulders  were  a  bright  crimson, 
as  if  stained  by  a  gush  of  blood. 

Gazing  at  the  bird,  they  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  the 
object  of  their  visit,  when  a  rich,  deep  voice  caused  them 
to  turn,  and  Madame  Dumont  evidently  stood  before 
them. 

Tall  and  dignified,  apparently  of  about  fifty  years  of 
age,  and  judging  from  her  brunette  complexion  a  French 
or  Spanish  Creole,  with  dark,  burning  eyes — a  richly-col- 
ored shawl  drawn  around  her  shoulders,  and  a  handker- 
chief, equally  richly  colored,  worn  as  a  turban  upon  her 
head — Madame  Dumont  evidently  was  no  vulgar  fortune- 
teller, but  one  of  the  mistresses  of  her  solemn  and  imposing 
art. 

"Welcome,   fair  flowers  of  Scotia!   welcome  to  my 


1 


ill!  I 
!il 


jQ .  PEMBERTON  J 

humble  dwelling.  Welcome,  true  lover  of  woman ;  wel- 
come, faithful  son  of  a  woman,  to  the  home  of  the  unloved 
and  the  desolate.     What  would  you  of  the  daughter  of  the 

'^'-wf  would,"  replied  Isabella,  with  a  little  of  a  tremor, 
-  learn  of  our  Future.     We  would  read  the  pages  of  des- 

*'"- And  why  read  the  Future  ?    Why  not  dwell  contented 
in  the  happy  Present?"  „  „„o" 

-  How  dost  thou  know  that  it  is  the  happy  present? 

interposed  Helen.  ,    .     .u        ^.  fV.- 

-When  one  sees  the  glory  of  youth  m  the  eyes,  the 
beauty  of  youth  on  the  cheeks,  it  requires  no  deep  divma- 
tion  to  read  the  Present.  But  thou  wouldst  know  of  the 
Future.     Give  me  thy  hand." 

Helen  stretched  forth  her  hand.  The  sorceress  gazed 
into  the  soft  palm,  holding  it  to  reflect  the  ^f\ 

"  All  the  lines  are  fortunate,  save  one,"  said  she  quietly. 
«<  Canst  thou  not  be  happy  with  one  thing  denied? 

"  I  should  think,"  replied  Pemberton,  smiling,  that  it 
would  depend  very  much  upon  what  that  one  thing  was. 

-  What  is  to  be  denied  me?"  said  Helen  quickly. 
-All  the  lines  axe  fortunate  and  straight  and  full  save 

one— only  the  line  of  love,  though  straight  aud  full,  is 

suddenly  broken."  ..tt^^^  t 

-  Only  the  line  of  love !"  repeated  Helen.       Then  I 
suppose  my  fate  will  be  to  lead  apes  hereafter,  instead  of 

^^- This  palmistry-this  hand-divination,  is  very  imper- 
fect, lady,"  replied  the  fortune-teller.  "  It  is  the  lowest 
branch  of  my  art.  And  even  that  says  not  thou  shalt  live 
a  maiden.     I  have  not  said  so." 

Andr6  made  a  step  forward.     "  Why  is  it  so  often  the 


OR,    ONE    HUKDRED    YKAKS   AGO. 


lOS 


iver  of  woman ;  wel- 
home  of  th<;  unloved 
if  the  daughter  of  the 

h  a  little  of  a  tremor, 
ead  the  pages  of  des- 

Y  not  dwell  contented 

the  happy  present?" 

outh  in  the  eyes,  the 

quires  no  deep  divina- 

wouldst  know  of  the 

The  sorceress  gazed 
ect  the  light, 
one,"  said  she  quietly. 
:  thing  denied?" 
rton,  smiling,  "  that  it 
t  that  one  thing  was." 
d  Helen  quickly. 
I  straight  and  full  save 
h  straight  aud  full,  is 

ited  Helen.     "  Then  I 
les  hereafter,  instead  of 

rination,  is  very  imper- 

ller.     "It  is  the  lowest 

says  not  thou  shalt  live 

'Why  is  it  so  often  the 


case,  good  mother,  that  the  oracles  of  Fate  will  bear  a 
double  interpretation?" 

"Tlie  oracles  of  Fate!  Would  you  then  really  hear 
them?"  exclaimed  the  woman,  in  a  solemn,  somewhat  sad 
voice.  "Hark!  do  you  hear  the  wind  rushing  through 
the  branches?  It  portends  the  tempest.  And  that  low 
roaring  of  the  thunder — it  foretells  that  the  storm  is  roll- 
ing nearer  and  nearer.  I  feel  in  my  spirit  the  rushing  of 
tlie  wind.  I  bear  the  low  roaring  of  the  thunder.  The 
storm  will  burst  full  soon." 

"  Yes,"  said  Isabella  to  Pemberton,  anxiously,  "  a  storm 
is  indeed  coming  up.  Had  we  not  better  return  home  at 
once?" 

"  It  would  be  on  us  before  we  had  gone  a  square.  Ha  I 
there  it  is — "  as  a  sharp  peal  rang  through  the  air,  and 
seemed  to  shake  the  building,  while  they  heard  outside 
the  rushing  of  the  rain.  "  It  may  all  be  over  in  an  hour 
or  so — it  is  the  way  with  our  thunder  storms." 

"  Of  course  we  will  stay,"  said  Helen.  "  And  now  that 
matter  is  settled,  let  us  learn  something  of  those  spiritual 
tempests  which  we  have  been  told  of.  Can  you  not  be  a 
little  more  precise  in  your  readings  of  the  dark  page  of  the 
Future  ?  If  the  reading  of  the  hand  be  imperfect,  let  us 
witness  some  of  the  higher  evidences  of  your  power." 

The  fortune-teller  appeared  to  hesitate — her  manner 
seemed  for  the  moment  irresolute. 

"If  money  be  an  object  with  you — "  interposed  Ar- 
thur. 

"Thy  money  perish  with  thee!"  cried  the  fortune- 
teller, her  eyes  and  face  glowing.  "  Know,  young  man, 
that  I,  like  the  called  and  anointed  of  thy  father's  faith, 
neither  preach  for  hire,  nor  divine  for  money.  All  my 
offerings  are  free-will  offerings — and  I  never  even  look  at 
what  each  man  gives." 


I'll 


Ml 

Ite 


1 06  PEMBERTON  J 

"Pardon  me,  good  mother!  I  erred  through  igno- 
rance.     I   both  understand  and  honor  the  feeling  you 

manifest." 

"I  hesitated  only,"  said  the  woman,  "because  I  fear 
my  own  art.  When  the  curtain  is  raised,  is  it  wonderful 
that  I  also  should  sometimes  start  and  shudder?  Can  I 
see  a  pit  in  your  onward  path,  all  black  and  yawning  be- 
fore you— and  you,  young  hopefuls,  hastening  gayly  and 
cheerfully  on— and  not  myself  suffer  ?  and  suffer  more,  be- 
cause that  I  have  faith  !  "  . 

"But,"  interrupted  Andr6,  "is  it  not  better  that  m 
such  a  case  the  reckless  gayety  should  yield  a  little  to 
more  serious  and  befitting  thoughts  ?  Would  not  the  way- 
farer be  thus  better  prepared  for  the  pit?  " 

"It  maybe  so— and  that  comforts  me,"  replied  the 
fortune-teller. 

"And  moreover,"  continued  Andr6,  "forewarned,  are 
we  not  somewhat  forearmed?     Is  the  future  thou  seest, 

inevitable?" 

"  It  is  inevitable— so  far  as  the  natural  order  of  thmgs 
and  events  is  concerned  Only  he  who  rules  this  world, 
be  he  the  Great  Supreme,  or  some  wise  archangel  or 
angel  under  him,  can   interpose  to  save  the  menaced 

one." 

"  Does  he  ever  interpose?"  questioned  Andr6,  earnestly. 
"  Is  his  workmanship  so  poor,  as  ever  to  need  the  helping 
hand  of  alteration  or  correction  ?  " 

"  In  making  man  a  free  agent,"  replied  the  sibyl,  "  he 
has  himself  necessarily  made  his  workmanship  imperfect. 
Allow  for  the  workings  of  a  free  agent,  and  not  even  m- 
finite  intelligence  can  exactly  perceive  and  provide  for  the 
infinite  future.  And  thus  what  I  term,  in  one  sense,  the 
inevitable,  w^  never  come  to  pass.  But  let  no  one  cal- 
culate upon  this— for  in  ninety  and  nine  cases  m  the  hun- 


I  '! 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


107 


;rred  through  igno- 
lor  the  feeling  you 

an,  "because  I  fear 
lised,  is  it  wonderful 
id  shudder?  Can  I 
Lck  and  yawning  be- 
hastening  gayly  and 

and  suffer  more,  be- 
lt not  better  that  in 
uld   yield  a  little  to 

Would  not  the  way- 
pit?" 
rts  me,"  replied  the 

r6,  "forewarned,  are 
le  future  thou  seest, 

.tural  order  of  things 
vho  rules  this  world, 
e  wise  archangel  or 
)  save  the  menaced 

med  Andr6,  earnestly, 
r  to  need  the  helping 

eplied  the  sibyl,  "  he 
rkmanship  imperfect, 
ent,  and  not  even  in- 
^e  and  provide  for  the 
irm,  in  one  sense,  the 
But  let  no  one  cal- 
nine  cases  in  the  hun- 


! 


dred,  the  inevitable,  as  I  see  it,  will  come  to  pass.  I 
never  knew  but  of  one  case  in  which  it  did  not. 

"  But  we  waste  time,"  she  continued.  "  You  at  least," 
addressing  Andrd,  "may  confidently  hope  for  a  happy 
future.  You  have  the  eye  and  voice  which  captivate  alike 
men  and  women.  You  have  in  that  the  key  to  all  success. 
Give  me  your  hand." 

There  were  two  seats  drawn  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  near  the  table.  To  one  of  these  the  sibyl  led 
Andre,  while  she  herself  took  the  other.  She  sat  for 
several  minutes  in  perfect  silence— then  she  spoke : 

"  Prince  of  the  Powers  of  the  Air  !  thou  that  seest  and 
knowest  from  thy  exalted  height  the  ways  of  men— make 
my  inward  mind  pure,  my  inward  sight  clear,  that  I  may 
see  and  understand  the  destiny  of  this  man  now  before 

me!" 

She  rose  and  lighted  with  a  taper  the  three  candles  on 
the  altar,  and  then  returned  to  her  seat. 

Taking  the  right  hand  of  Andr6  in  her  own,  and  sitting 
in  perfect  silence,  soon  her  head  fell  forward,  her  eyes 
partly  closed,  and  she  seemed  to  sink  into  a  kind  of 
trance.  A  low  sweet  strain  of  music,  the  source  of  which 
it  was  impossible  to  fix,  floated  through  the  room.  Then, 
after  a  long,  deep  breath,  she  spoke  in  a  rapid  but  clear 
tone,  audible  to  all,  though  scarcely  louder  than  a 
whisper : — 

*  I  see  a  great  crowd.     There  is  a  high  hill.     I  see  you 

yes,  it  is  certainly  you.     You  are  in  a  military  uniform. 

It  is  red— it  is  a  British  uniform.  The  crowd  is  very  sor- 
rowful—some are  weeping.  There  are  generals  and  other 
officers.  You  are  standing  on  a  wagon— on  a  coffin.  It 
is  a  scaffold.  A  rope  is  around  your  neck.  Oh— oh— 
oh!" 
With  a  wild  wail  the  sibyl  sprang  to  her  feet— dashing 


to8 


PEMHERION  ; 


% 


!      ! 


I!,  I 


!l' 


1    1 


!   i 


fright 


her  hands  over  her  brow  and  eyes,  as  if  to  wipe  away  the 
memory  of  a  fearful  dream.  ,    .    ^    ,  .1 

The  young  ladies  also  had  sprung  to  their  feet,  greatly 
excited-Helen  fairly  trembling  with  the  excitement  and 

terror.  .        . ,       ,    , 

Andre's  face  was  pale,  but  he  said,  calmly  :— 
«Good  mother,   you  have  given  the  ladies  a  great 

-'li  is  terrible,  terrible!"  exclaimed  Helen.  "How 
could  you  conjure  up  such  a  scene?" 

-  Pardon,  sweet  lady  !  "  said  the  syb.l.  "  When  I  go 
into  these  trances,  I  know  not  what  I  .shall  say.  But  those 
that  are  fearful  of  heart,  should  never  seek  to  explore  the 

"^"7' am  not  fearful !  I  am  startled  and  excited-not 
fearful '  I  am  not  afraid  to  hear  or  see  any  fate,  true  or 
false,  that  you  may  call  before  me,"  replied  Helen,  the 
blue  eyes  of  her  father  flashing  above  the  cheeks  into  which 
the  blood  had  returned  in  a  torrent.  "  Sit  down  again, 
Tohn,  and  let  us  have  it  out." 

<'Yes"  added  Isabella  proudly,  "we  are  a  soldiers 
daughter,  and  not  such  cowards  as  to  be  frightened  by 

mere  words."  j     -i 

"  Well,"  said  Pemberton,  "  you  are  the  ones  to  decide, 
ladies,     i  suppose  we  gentlemen  can  endure  anything  that 

you  can." 

Andrd  smiled,  and  again  took  his  seat. 

"See  if  you  cannot  give  me  something  more  pleasant 
than  that ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  give  me  that  over  agam,  that 
I  may  not  forget  it." 

'« The  spirit  never  repeats  itself-and  you  will  never  for- 
get it!"  said  the  sibyl  solemnly,  taking  her  seat  and  his 

hand  anew.  . 

Again  the  silence-then  the  low,  sweet  ffiolian  tonei,  of 


Sjit-i 


iii ,  i 


s  if  to  wipe  away  the 

to  their  feet,  greatly 
1  the  excitement  and 

,  calmly : — 

n  the  ladies   a  great 

imed  Helen.     "How 

sybil.  "When  I  go 
1  shall  say.  But  those 
2r  seek  to  explore  the 

tied  and  excited — not 
r  see  any  fate,  true  or 
,"  replied  Helen,  the 
I  the  cheeks  into  which 
It.     "Sit  down  again, 

•,  "we  are  a  soldier's 
as  to  be  frightened  by 

are  the  ones  to  decide, 
m  endure  anything  that 

is  seat. 

)mething  more  pleasant 

me  that  over  again,  that 

-and  you  will  never  for- 
taking  her  seat  and  his 

V,  sweet  seolian  tones  of 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRED    YEARS    AOO. 


109 


music  as  before,  but  in  a  wilder,  more  triumphant  strain. 

"  I  see  a  glorious  building.  It  is  in  England.  Yes,  it 
is  Westminster  Abbey.  A  new  monument  has  been 
erected.  Men — the  titled  and  high-born — and  beautiful 
women,  are  gazing  upon  it.  Stay — I  can  read  the  name. 
'  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  John  Andrd.' 

"That  is  all— it  passes  from  before  me.  Ask  me  no 
more  of  thy  destiny." 

"  It  is  enough  ! ' '  proudly  exclaimed  Andr6,  rising.  "A 
tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey,  amid  the  noblest  and  best  of 
England,  might  well  content  the  ambition  of  a  prouder 
man  than  I  am.  Good  mother,  thy  second  prediction, 
though  it  seems  to  give  the  lie  to  the  first,  is  quite  sufficient 
for  me.  No  man  that  lived  the  life  of  a  felon,  no  man 
that  dies  the  death  of  a  felon,  shall  ever  lie  in  the  Abbey 
of  Westminster." 

The  sibyl  smiled.  "  I  am  well  pleased  that  it  is  so. 
But  it  grows  late— and  I  begin  to  feel  exhausted.  Will 
not  this  serve  for  one  evening?" 

"  You  have  done  so  well  on  the  second  trial  for  our 
friend,  can  you  not  do  as  well  by  me?"  said  Helen. 
"This  sending  one  home  to  bed,  to  dream  of  hopeless 
love,  is  hardly  the  right  thing,  mother." 

"  You  call  me  '  mother' — would  to  God  that  you  had  a 
mother!"  said  the  sibyl  fondly  but  sadly.  "But  I  have 
not  predicted  the  hardest  fate— better  be  unhappy  in  thy 
love,  than  unloved  and  unloving." 

Helen  took  her  seat  in  the  chair  of  divination,  and  in 
the  wilful  manner  which  became  her  so  well,  held  out  her 
hand.  The  sibyl  shook  her  head  sadly,  but  took  her 
usual  seat,  kissing  the  beautiful  throbbing  hand  as  she  laid 
it  in  her  own. 

Then  ensued  the  deep  silence,  followed  by  a  very  faint, 

10 


no 


PEMBERTON  ; 


yet  sad  strain  of  music.     A  shudder  ran  through  the  frame 
of  the  sibyl.     She  spoke. 

"  I  see  a  maiden.  She  wanders  along  the  shore.  It  is 
a  dark  night.  I  see  high  cliffs.  She  tosses  her  hands 
wildly.     She—" 

"  No,"  exclaimed  the  sibyl,  breaking  through  her  trance 
with  a  strong  effort — "I  will  not!  I  can  not!  I  am 
weak  and  faint.  I  am  not  certain  of  my  power.  The 
lower  spirits  may  delude  me.  Lucifer  is  cunning.  The 
book  is  closed  and  sealed.  Live  thou  in  the  happy 
Present." 

"But  I  must  know  \"  exclaimed  Helen,  imperiously. 
"  I  am  not  a  child — I  am  a  woman  !  What  a  man  fears 
not  to  do  or  to  hear,  I  fear  not  to  do  or  to  hear. 

"Then,  not  to-night,"  replied  the  sibyl  earnestly. 
"  Can  you  not  imagini,  the  strain  this  divination  must  be 
upon  my  spirit?    I  am  exhausted." 

"Help!  help!  murder,  mur — "  again  began  the  cock- 
atoo ;  but  ceased  at  a  hasty  gesture  from  his  mistress. 
"Cease,  Goblin!"  cried  she. 

"It  is  a  horrid  bird!"  exclaimed  Helen.  "  How  can 
you  bear  to  have  it  about  the  house?" 

"  He  belonged  to  the  lady  who  once  lived  here — and 
died  here,"  replied  the  sibyl,  her  voice  sinking — "  yes,  in 
this  very  room  !  They  say  that  Goblin  was  once  a  great 
talker — but  ever  since  that  time,  he  utters  but  this  one 
cry  ;  caught  perhaps  from  his  terrified  mistress  in  her  hour 
of  agony,  and  driving  out  from  his  memory  every  other. 
They  also  say  his  plumage  was  changed  at  the  same  time, 
and  that  this  crimson  stain  .like  blood,  was  never  seen  on 
his  breast  before  the  murder.  This,  however,  may  be  a 
mere  unfounded  superstition.  But  you  have  heard  your- 
selves his  only  cry." 

"  Poor,  poor  bird!"  said  Helen  in  a  sympathizing  voice. 


an  through  the  frame 

)ng  the  shore.     It  is 
)he  tobses  her  hands 

ig  through  her  trance 

I  can  not !     I  am 

of  my  power.     The 

er  is  cunning.     The 

thou  in  the  happy 

Helen,  imperiously. 
!     What  a  man  fears 
or  to  hear, 
the  sibyl  earnestly, 
is  divination  must  be 

jain  began  the  cock- 
e  from  his  mistress. 

Helen.     "  How  can 

mce  lived  here — and 
ice  sinking — "  yes,  in 
)lin  was  once  a  great 
e  utters  but  this  one 
i  mistress  in  her  hour 
memory  every  other, 
jed  at  the  same  time, 
d,  was  never  seen  on 
s,  however,  may  be  a 
you  have  heard  your- 

a  sympathizing  voice. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


Ill 


"  Ladies,"  said  Pcmberton,  "  do  you  know  that  it  grows 
late?" 

"I  am  ready  to  depart,"  replied  Isabella. 

"  And  I  suppose  I  must  be,"  said  Helen — "though  I 
never  like  to  hear  a  talc  half-told." 

"You  are  a  little  unreasonable,  sometimes,  ma  belle 
Helene,"  rejoined  Isabella,  as  she  threw  Helen's  shawl  over 
her  shoulders.     "  Let  us  make  our  adieus  and  depart." 

But  the  sibyl  had  disappeared,  probably  through  some 
concealed  passage,  as  suddenly  as  she  had  entered — and 
the  negress  was  at  the  door  of  the  room,  waiting  to  show 
them  out.  The  young  men  exchanged  a  few  words,  and 
then  each  deposited  a  gold  piece  upon  the  table. 

As  they  left  the  house,  the  sky  was  covered  with  broken 
masses  of  cloud  ;  but  the  storm  had  passed  over,  the  full 
moon  had  risen,  and  all  nature  slept  calmly  in  its  silvery 
light. 

Isabella  drew  a  deep  breath.  "That  is  the  first  and 
last  time  you  ever  catch  me  at  a  fortune-teller's,"  ex- 
claimed she.  "  How  peaceful  and  heavenly  this  moon- 
light is,  after  that  awesome  room." 

"Bella,  I  do  believe  you  are  a  coward,"  replied  Helen. 

"  Coward  or  not,  Helen,  I  am  content  for  one  to  take 
things  as  they  com>i,  not  seeking  to  penetrate  the  future. 
I  think  it  well  to  have  a  pleasant  time  as  I  go  along,  even 
if  I  am  to  be  hung,  or  sent  wandering  like  a  maniac  along 
the  seashore,  some  twenty  or  fifty  years  hence." 

"I  think  you  are  more  than  half  right,"  said  Pember- 
ton.  "  But  that  woman  impressed  me  greatly.  She  is 
evidently  a  superior  person,  and  deeply  and  enthusiasti- 
cally sincere.  Of  course  that  proves  nothing  for  the  truth 
of  her  predictions." 

"  I  should  think  it  did,"  said  Helen. 

"  Not  at  all,  Helen.     Mr.  Edwards  was  just  as  sincere 


1 


iia 


I'F.Miir.uroN  ; 


in  predicting  his  own  death,  as  Madame  Dumont  is  in  her 
predictions.      He   fully   expected   to   die.      But  ho  did 

not."  ^       ,, 

"And  yet  sometimes    these   predictions  come  tnie, 
said  Isabella.    "  I  have  heanl  of  several  cases— and  doubt- 
less your  mother  could  tell  us  of  more." 

"  Doubtless  mother  could,"  replied  Pembcrton,  laugh- 
ing.    "  She  has  not  all  that  Welsh  blood  in  her  veins  for 

nothing."  ,, 

"I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  you,  Arthur, 
said  Helen,  "  if  you  had  a  little  more  of  that  Welsh  blood 

in  yours." 

"  I  know  you  do,  Helen ;  but  I  am  very  well  satisfied 

with  my  share." 

'<  Of  course.  I  never  saw  a  man  who  was  not  almost 
absolutely  perfect  in  his  own  estimation. ' '  Andr6  pressed 
the  hand  on  his  arm,  and  smiled.  "  I  admit  there  are  a 
few  brilliant  exceptions,"  she  added, 

"  I  suppose  those  are  the  cases  in  which  you  consider 
that  the  gentlemen  are  almost  absolutely  perfect,"  replied 
Pemberton,  gayly.  "But  apropos  of  fortune-telling,  I 
will  tell  you  an  anecdote  which  my  mother  never  told  me, 
but  my  father  did.  A  friend  of  his,  a  military  gentleman, 
like  Andr6  here,  had  been  told  by  a  gypsy  in  whose  pre- 
dictions he  had  great  faith,  that  he  need  never  fear  bullet 
nor  ball,  but  to  beware  of  cold  steel.  Of  course  in  battle 
he  never  felt  the  least  fear  of  anything  that  gunpowder 
could  do,  but  he  disliked  mightily  to  hfear  the  order  to 

charge  bayonets." 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  rest ;  he  died  safely  and  soundly  in 
his  bed,"  interrupted  Helen  saucily. 

«'  Not  so  fast,  ma  belle  Hdene.  He  did  die  in  his  bed, 
but  my  father  always  contended  that  he  died  of  cold  steel 
—for  the  doctors,  Sangrado  like,  absolutely  bled  him,  and 


imc  Dumont  is  in  her 

0  die.      IJut  he  did 

dictions  come  tnie," 
ral  cases — and  doubt- 
re." 

lid  Pcmberton,  laugh- 
)lood  in  her  veins  for 

ng  for  you,  Arthur," 
re  of  that  Welsh  blood 

am  very  well  satisfied 

a  who  was  not  almost 

lion."     Andr6  i)ressed 

"I  admit  there  are  a 

n  which  you  consider 
utely  perfect,"  replied 
;  of  fortune-telling,  I 
mother  never  told  me, 
;,  a  military  gentleman, 
a  gypsy  in  whose  pre- 
need  never  fear  bullet 
1.  Of  course  in  battle 
fthing  that  gunpowder 
^to  hfear  the  order  to 

1  safely  and  soundly  in 

y- 

He  did  die  in  his  bed, 
at  he  died  of  cold  steel 
ibsolutely  bled  him,  and 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


U3 


bled  him,  till  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  recover.  Na- 
ture gave  up  the  contest  in  despair,  and  he  died.  So  yoti 
see  you  must  always  allow  a  wide  margin  in  the  interpre- 
tation of  these  predictions.  As  your  favorite  Shakspeare 
says,   AndrO,    they   often    'palter  with   us   in   a  double 


sense. 


I II 


Andr6  had  been  very  quiet,  and  continued  so  all  the 
way  home.  W;is  he  thinking  of  that  terrible  scene  which 
the  sibyl  had  conjured  up — or  of  that  far  different  one  in 
Westminster  Abbey?  Whichever  it  was  that  occupied 
his  thoughts — or  whether  his  mind  was  brooding  over  far 
different  themes — he  gave  no  <  lue  to  judge  by  words. 
Declining  Pemberton's  formal  invitation  to  enter,  when 
they  arrived  at  Mrs.  Pemberton's,  and  only  lingering  a 
moment  on  the  step  to  exchange  a  few  loving  words  with 
his  betrothed,  he  took  his  way  to  his  own  lodgings. 


ic 


~fc 


114 


I'KMnKRTON  ; 


I  'l 


1  I 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   QUAKER    I'REACIIER. 
<•  And  tiling*  are  not  what  they  tnm."—/.<>HfftU<>w. 

As  Pembcrton  sat  in  the  parlor  one  morning,  a  week  or 
two  after  the  evening  at   Madame  Dumont's,  he  heard  a 
loiul,  peculiar  knoc  k  at  the  front  door,  and  shortly  after- 
ward old  I'ox  entered,  ushering  in  a  gentleman  of  rather 
singular  appearance.     The  visitor  was  apparently  an  aged 
member  of  the  Soc  iety  of  Friends.     His  hair  was  silver 
white— evidently  with  age,  not  with  powder— and  hung 
low  over  his  forehead,  while  it  straggled,  untied  and  (lueue- 
less,  ilown  the  sides  of  his  face,  and  behind  over  his  neck. 
His  dress  was  not  that  of  the  Quaker  aristocracy  of  the 
period,  but  of  the  more  simple  and  austere  class  of  Friends 
who  inhabited  the  distant  country  neighborhoods.     It  was 
a  complete  suit  of  homespun  drab— from  his  drab  hat  to 
his  worn  and  drab  buckskin  shoes.     Despite  his  age,  he 
seemed  erect  and  vigorous ;  his  eye  seemed  not  deficient 
in  fire,  and  his  face  was  rather  ruddy  than  otherwise— ap- 
pearances not  unusual  in  the  aged  members  of  his  temper- 
ate and  moderate  sect.     For  it  is  excess  which  dims  the 
lustre  of  the  eye  ;  and  passion  which  bends  the  frame, 
ploughs  furrows  in  the  face,  and  spreads  a  pallor  over  the 
once  ruddy  surface  of  the  skin. 
"Alt  thou  Arthur  Pemberton ? " 
"  Such  is  my  name,"  politely  replied  Pemberton— won- 
dering who  the  stranger  could  be. 

The  visitor's  face  took  a  more  solemn  aspect.  "  My 
name  is  Joshua  Parsley.  Thou  hast  heard  thy  late  father 
speak  of  his  old  friend,  and  humble  minister  of  the  word, 
Joshua  Parsley  ?  " 


KER. 

." —Lontftllovi). 

e  morning,  a  week  or 
)innont's,  he  heard  a 
or,  and  shortly  after- 
gentleman  of  rather 
as  apparently  an  aged 
His  hair  was  silver 
1   powder — and  hung 
led,  untied  and  queue- 
behind  over  his  neck, 
leer  aristocracy  of  the 
ustere  class  of  Friends 
eighborhoods.     It  was 
•from  his  drab  hat  to 
Despite  his  age,  he 
seemed  not  deficient 
y  than  otherwise — ap- 
lembers  of  his  temper- 
excess  which  dims  the 
lich  bends  the  frame, 
reads  a  pallor  over  the 


lied  Pemberton— won- 

solemn  aspect.  "My 
it  heard  thy  late  father 
e  minister  of  the  word, 


OR,   ONR   HUNDRED  YEARS   AOO, 


"5 


"  I  regret  to  say  that  I  never  heard  my  father  upeak  of 
you.     Hut  any  old  friend  of  his  is  alway>,  welcome." 

"It  is  strange  I  I'eradventure  he  tlid  in/t  take  thee 
into  his  inmost  confidence— thou  wast  ratlier  yoiU'^  when 
he  died.  But  he  left  me  a  solemn  message  for  thee.  I 
have  refrained  thus  long  from  delivering  that  message. 
Hut  I  have  felt  of  late  that  I  must  no  longer  refrain.  1 
have  felt  a  moving,  yea  an  urging,  yea  a—" 

Tlie  sentence  was  sutldenly  interrui)te(l  by  Major  Tarlc- 
ton,  who  threw  the  dcjor  of  the  room  open  excitedly,  hav- 
ing entered  the  house,  as  was  not  uncommon  in  those 
days,  without  knocking. 

"Pemberton — have  you  seen  Andr6  this  morning?  I 
thought  perhaps  I  might  find  him  with  you.  That  rascal, 
McLane,  has  been  at  some  more  of  his  tricks.  But  I 
have  his  trail  this  time— and  if  I  can  once  get  sight  of 
him,  I'll  tree   him,  or  my  name's  not  Banastre  Tarlc- 

ton." 

"  And  dost  thou  really  wish  to  see  that  man  of  violence 
and  blood,  my  son?"  spoke  the  solemn  tones  of  the 
Quaker  from  the  sofa,  where  he  sat,  concealed  by  the  half 
opened  door  from  the  view  of  Tarleton,  who  had  not  en- 
tered, but  continued  standing  in  the  doorway. 

"Satan!  who  have  you  got  here,  Pemberton?  I 
thought  you  were  alone." 

"  Not  Satan,  my  son— but  an  humble  opponent  of  Satan, 
and  follower  of  the  lamb." 

"  Of  the  Fox,  you  mean,"  laughed  Tarleton,  disrespect- 
fully. "  Curse  me,  if  some  of  the  slipperiest  fellows  I 
have  met  around  here  have  not  been  you  same  Quakers." 
"Courtesy,  if  you  please,  Major,"  said  Pemberton,  a 
little  haughtily.  "  This  is  an  old  friend  of  my  father's. 
You  asked  about  Captain  Andr6 ;  I  have  not  seen  him 
this  morning."  ^ 


ii6 


I'EMBERTON 


"Well,  I  must  find  him,"  replied  Tarleton,  coolly, 
turning  on  his  heel. 

"  Stay,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  Qur.ker.  "Thou 
spakest  of  him  whom  the  men  of  Belial  call  Captain 
McLanc,  and  said  thou  wished  to  meet  with  him." 

"Aye,  that  I  do.  I'd  tan  his  hide  for  him— the  rebel- 
lious rascal." 

"Well,  my  son,  I  happened  to  be  visiting  a  brother  in 
Germantown,  the  other  morning,  when  the  men  of  sin 
were  contending  together— yea,   verily!     And  I  looked 
out  of  the  cellar  window— for  we  had  all  gone  down  into 
the  cellar ;  yea,  and  also  into  the  spiritual  cellar,  into  the 
dark  depths  of  affliction— and  there  was  a  confused  noise, 
the  thunder  of  the  captains  and  the  shouting— and,  as  1 
said,  I  looked  twice  out  of  the  cellar  window.     And  first 
I  beheld  a  horseman,  at  the  head  of  other  horsemen, 
riding  down  (he  road  furiously— and  then,  the  second  vime 
I  looked,  I  beheld  another  horseman,  at  the  head  of  other 
horsemen,  and  he  also  was  riding  down  the  road  furiously, 
yea,  like  the  riding  of  Jehu,  the  son  of  Nimshi— and  my 
friend  said  the  second  horseman  was  pursuing  the  first 
horseman— yea,  verily  !     And  my  friend  said  the  name  of 
the  first  horseman  was  Tarleton,  and  that  the  name  of  the 
second  horseman  was  McLane.     Now,  if  thou  wast  the 
first  horseman,  and  thou  really  wished  to  meet  the  second 
horseman,   why  didst  thou  not  halt  and  wait  for  his 

coming?" 

The  Quaker  had  run  on  in  his  discourse,  in  the  kind  of 
rapid  sing-song  peculiar  to  certain  of  the  preachers  of  his 
sect,  heeding  not  the  impatient  mutterings  and  startings 
of  the  British  officer.  But,  as  he  paused,  Tarleton  took  a 
step  forward,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  sword  in  his  anger. 

"  It  was  McLane,  then  !  You  know  well,  you  sly  and 
malicious  old  Thee-and-Thou,  that  my  troop  ran,  not  from 


.   * 


m 


plied  Tarleton,   coolly, 

1  the  Qur.ker.     "Thou 
of   Belial  call  Captain 
meet  with  him." 
lide  for  him — the  rebel- 
be  visiting  a  brother  in 
,  when  the  men  of  sin 
verily  !     And  I  looked 
had  all  gone  down  into 
spiritual  cellar,  into  the 
:re  was  a  confused  noise, 
the  shouting — and,  as  1 
;llar  window.     And  first 
ead  of  other  horsemen, 
nd  then,  the  second  ume 
nan,  at  the  head  of  other 
down  the  road  furiously, 
son  of  Nimshi — and  my 
n  was  pursuing  the  first 
y  friend  said  the  name  of 
and  that  the  name  of  the 
Now,  if  thou  wast  the 
ished  to  meet  the  second 
;  halt  and  wait  for  his 

discourse,  in  the  kind  of 
in  of  the  preachers  of  his 

mutterings  and  startings 
e  paused,  Tarleton  took  a 
:o  his  sword  in  his  anger, 
u  know  well,  you  sly  and 
at  my  troop  ran,  not  from 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


117 


McLane,  but  from  the  whole  rebel  army.  Of  course  he 
will  brag  how  he  chased  Tarleton  through  Germantown. 
But  Tarleton  led  the  advance  which  chased  the  cursed 
rebel  horde  of  tatterdemalions  back  to  their  holes  again. 

By  the—" 

"Sweai  not,  young  man!"  interrupted  the  Quaker 
solemnly,  rising  to  his  feet.  "  Take  not  the  name  of  thy 
Creator  in  vain  !  Ah,  I  feel  the  spirit  moving  within  me 
—it  moves  to  the  word  of  exhortation,  to  the  word  of 
warning,  to  the  word  of—" 

"  Go  to  the  devil  with  your  canting  !  Good-day,  Pem- 
bcrton,"  exclaimed  Tarleton,  as  he  flung  himself  through 
the  door,  slamming  it  violently  behind  him. 

"The  young  man  seems  rather  excited,"  said  the 
Quaker,  calmly  resuming  his  seat.  "  I  tnist  he  will  not 
continue  long  in  that  angry  frame  of  mind— he  might  hurt 

nmebody." 

"  He  undoubtedly  w/7/  hurt  somebody,"  replied  Pem- 
berton,  who  had  been  greatly  amused— though  he  managed 
to  keep  all  traces  of  mirth  from  his  countenance — at  the 
conversation  between  Tarleton  and  the  preacher.  "But 
you  said  you  had  a  message  from  my  father  for  me." 

"Yes,  my  son,  I  have  a  message,  an  earnest  and  im- 
portant message ;  but  it  is  one  which  I  would  rather  con- 
fide to  thee  in  the  secresy  of  thy  chamber  than  here,  where 
we  may  be  interrupted  by  other  children  of  the  flesh." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  replied  Pemberton,  rising.  "  My 
chamber  is  one  of  the  upper  rooms." 

Pemberton  noticed  that  the  Quaker,  notwithstanding 
his  age,  seemed  to  experience  no  difficulty  in  ascending 
the  stairs ;  and  he  felt  proud  of  the  country  which  could 
produce  such  staunch  and  enduring  sons. 

"I  think  thou  hadst  better  bolt  the  door,"  said  the 
preacher,  taking  a  seat. 


i      ■ 
hi- 


]';. '. 


iiS 


PEMBERTON ; 


Pemberton  smilcd-but  did  as  requested. 

..  My  son,"  began  the  Quaker,  "the  message  wh.ch  thy 

fatheT entru  ted  to  me  was  this.     He  had  observed  w.tlj 

or  ow^  h^^^^^^^^^     before  his  death,  thou  hadst  utterly,  a>.d 

I  may  say  entirely,  and  even  altogetherly,  given  up  the 

use  of  the  plain  language."  .<Vn,w1n 

<'Whatl"  cried  Pemberton,  mipetuously.  Vou  cio 
not  mean  that  ^his  is  the  ixiessage  you  were  intrusted  with 

^T^eQuIklseemedto  be  suddenly  taken  with  a  fit  of 
convulsions-he  bent  his  head  nearly  to  ^^  lap.  ^^^e  h^ 
frame  shook  with  emotion.  At  length  it  broke  forth  m 
an  apparently  uncontrollable  burst  of  laughter-not  loud 
but  deep-and  all  the  more  convulsive  from  his  evident 
efforts  to  moderate  and  subdue  It.  •       ^„ 

.«I-*hall-burstl"   at  length  exclaimed  a  voice,  en- 
tirely different  from  that  which  had  before  spoken. 

Pemberton  looked  on  in  amazement.     He  thought  the 
venerable  preacher  must  be  losing  his  senses. 

"  I  cannot  keep  up  the  farce  any  longer-I  cannot,  to 
save  my  life,"  said  the  Quaker,  in  a  low  voice  that  seemed 
tran^ely  faiiiliar.     At  the  same  time  he  removed  his  hat, 
then  his  long  silver  hair-which  proved  to  be  a  wig-com- 
posed his  countenance  to  its  natural  and  not  quite  so  sanc- 
^   rronious  expression,  and  the  gay,  undauiited  face  of 
^    Ueutenant  Morris  was  revealed  to  his  -tonished  cousin.^  ^ 
-  Why,  Arthur,  you  stare  as  if  you  never  saw  me  before, 
said  the  Lieutenant.     "  I  think  that  is  a  pretty  good  dis- 
euise,  to  deceive  even  you." 

^  ..  Philip-this  is  a  tremendous  risk.     How  you  puzzled 

tne      I  thought  at  the  la.t  you  must  be  crazy,     replied 

.        Pemberton,  half  laughing,  half  alarmed  at  his  cousin  s 

'      '"T^^n  looked  puzzled.     Oh,  I  shall  die  just  thinking  of 


OK,    ONE    IlLNnREU    YEARS    AGO. 


119 


lestcd. 

le  message  which  thy 
e  had  observed  with 
lou  hadst  utterly,  and 
therly,  given  up  the 

letuously.  "You  do 
II  were  intrusted  with 

:iy  taken  with  a  fit  of 
y  to  his  lap,  "while  his 
igth  it  broke  forth  in 
)f  laughter — not  loud 
,sive  from  his  evident 

cclaimed  a  voice,  en- 
before  spoken, 
ent.     He  thought  the 
is  senses. 

\f  longer— I  cannot,  to 
,  low  voice  that  seemed 
ne  he  removed  his  hat, 
,vcdtobe  awig— com- 
i  and  not  quite  so  sane- 
ly, undaunted  face  of 
his  astonished  cousin. 
1  never  saw  me  before," 
It  is  a  pretty  good  dis- 

sk.  How  you  puzzled 
nust  be  crazy,"  replied 
Jarmed  at  his  cousin's 

lall  die  just  thinking  of 


it,"  rejoined  Morris,  going  off  into  fresh  convulsions  of 
subdued  laughter.     ' '  And— didn' t— I— give— Tarleton— 

fits?" 

"You  were  bold  to  recklessness.  Tarleton  is  not  the 
man  to  trifie  with  in  tliat  way,  I  assure  you.  Had  you  not 
passed  as  a  guest  of  mine,  I  am  not  certain  that  even  your 
assumed  age  and  Quaker  garb  would  have  protected  you." 

"Oh,  of  course  I  calculated  the  chances.  I  knew  the 
weazel  could  not  help  himself." 

"  But  the  risk— the  great  risk  of  this  disguise,  Phil. 
You  know  it  is  death  if  they  discover  you." 

"  I  know  all  that,"  replied  his  cousin,  coolly  ;  "  but  do 
I  not  look  death  in  the  face  almost  every  day  of  my  life  ?" 

"But  the  dishonorable  death  of  a  spy— and  on  the 

gallows ! ' ' 

"  Pshaw !  mere  words.  Dying  for  one'3  country  is  the 
death  of  a  patriot,  whatever  men  say,  and  be  it  by  rope 
or  steel  or  bullet.  If  I  can  do  tenfold  the  good  to  my 
country  by  coming  here  disguised,  that  I  can  in  the  field 
as  a  soldier,  why  I  should  be  a  selfish  coward  not  to  run 
the  risk.  But  all  this  is  not  to  the  purpose.  Here  I  am. 
Now  what  is  the  news?" 

"  Nothing  is  stirring,  to  my  knowledge — save  what  I 
infer  from  Tarleton's  words  of  an  expedition  this  after- 
noon. I  shall  signal  a  small  attack.  I  will  move  about  a 
little  this  evening,  and  pick  up  what  I  can.  Of  course 
you  will  not  pass  the  night  in  the  city  ?  " 

"  No.  I  have  some  friends  to  see — some  of  the  leading 
ministers  and  elders  of  the  flock,"  replied  Morris,  smiling. 
"  My  market  wagon,  well-loaded,  is  hitched  at  your  door. 
It  is  well  that  Howe  and  the  others  are  so  fond  of  good 
dinners.     How  is  auntie  ? "         '  •  '' 

"  In  good  health,  as  usual." 

"Loyal,  as  ever?"  .  • 


lipi 


f) 


•,it^ 


120 


PEMHERTON } 


either  through  Captain  tanny.     Ihat  is  tlic  reah 

^^^^-  ,     .  1.      „„      Hilt  we  cannot  obtain 

..  Foxey  does  the  best  he  can.     But  wc  ca  ^^^ 

information  of  every  '"°^^"^7*\/°"  ,"°Iss  to  be  a 
play  a  double-handed  game.  I  -\-\J  tnfilce  of 
devoted  royalist,  and  -^ ->^  "^.^hat  is  not  my 
the  British  officers,  in  order  to  betray 

style,  Phil."  ,„H  Andr6  are  devoted  friends,  and 

"  They  say  that  you  and  Ancire  art  u 
I  believe  so  from  what  1  saw  at  Wissahickon.     Who  is  the 

deceived  one?'' 

'.'.  H Jt^fgive  you  many  taporu,,.  pieces  of  infom-a- 
"°"no     I  will  not  let  him.     1  always  shut  his  mouA, 

TheyZ  how  can  he  be  a  tn,c  patriot,  and  yet  be  hand 

-!'--^i^t^fSjU.tt^--- 

Not  to  serve  myself,  or  her,  will  i  to  j    .,, 

,„y  no  one.     If  your  superiors  d"*'"!-^;,'  ]Z  ,i/„.u 

-f.zrr„r ;•:"  -  lat  .thi„.  i  .n..  >^-o 
rrtS^srthSriF"----" 

try's  life,  which  is  everything. 


OK,    ONE    HUNDRED    YF.ARS    AGO. 


121 


3o  not  let  Foxcy  over- 

;  came  near  being  sur- 

And  we  heard  nothing 

hat  is  the  reason  I  am 

But  we  cannot  obtain 

Yon  know  I  will  not 

ill  not  profess  to  be  a 

f  into  the  confidence  of 

tray  it.    That  is  not  my 

are  devoted  friends,  and 
'issahickon.     Who  is  the 


ortant  pieces  of  informa- 

[  always  shut  his  mouth, 
p  opens  it  too  widely." 
beginning  to  doubt  you. 
patriot,  and  yet  be  hand 

M 

Pemberton,  while  his  face 
<  I  will  go  thus  far  to  aid 
far  as  I  can  go  in  honor. 
,  1  go  further.     I  will  be- 
doubtme— fearlwiUpur 
.  set  at  naught  my  signals 
further  attention  to  them." 
ut /think.     I  trust  you  to 
ny  own  life,  as  I  am  domg 
Id  trust  you  with  my  coun- 


"  What  does  Washington  say?" 

"  He  says  that  he  fully  understands  you,  respects  you, 
believes  in  you.  The  trouble  is  not  with  him,  you  may 
be  assured.     It  is  with  a  commoner  order  of  men." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  General,  Phil?  Ihe 
British  officers  used  to  express  a  great  deal  of  contempt 
for  him,  giving  to  Lee,  the  Englishman,  tne  credit  of 
every  able  movement;  but  since  Lee's  capture,  and  the 
splemlid  dash  on  Colonel  Rahl  at  Trenton,  they  do^not 
seem  <iuite  so  certain  that  Lee  was  our  '  pal  adunn  ! 

.<  A  fig  for  Lee,"  exclaimed  Morris.  "  Washington  s 
not  only  the  ablest  commander  we  have,  but  by  all  odds 
the  noblest  and  most  glorious  man.  Notwithstanding  the 
calumnies  of  Lee  and  his  friends,  for  Lee  wished  to  hav^ 
Washington's  place,  you  know,  he  manifests  no  irnta- 
bility,  always  speaks  of  Lee  with  courtesy,  admits  his 
brillLt  abilities,  and  laughs  not,  while  all  the  camp  is 
laughing,  at  his  ridiculous  capture.  You  have  not  heard 
perhaps  Arthur,  how  it  all  happened;   it  is,  as  the  old 

^^^:Xr'3:^^:^-'that  Lee  ventured  too  f^ 

^^:;^tur^c^S^ortS^>nson^ 
He  sought  out  Lee  with  a  letter  from  Gates;  Gates  was 
u^>  Jersey   in  a  deuce  of  a  quandary,  you  know,  feanng  he 
mght stumble  with  his  little  reinforcement  onthe  British 
Wilkinson  finds  Lee  in  bed  at  a  tavern  at  Baskmndge 
Ze   miles  off  from  his   troops,  that  much  nearer   the 
Bd  sh  at  New  Brunswick,  and  with  only  a  .B^all  guard 
W  1    Wilkinson  throws  himself  on  the  floor  m  his  blanket 
long  Lee's  suite,  and  sleeps  till  daylight  next  morning. 
iZt  eight  o'clock  Lee  comes  down  half-dressed   m  his 
^W,peis  and  blanket  coat,  collar  wide  open,  and  dirty 
Unr  a  regular  sloven.     I  don't  believe  m  slovens;  a 
II 


ir 


m 


s^- 


,22  PEMl!ERTON  ; 

Slouch  in  one  thing,  a  slouch  in  everything.  Washington 
is  always  dressed  like  a  gentleman.  Not  till  ten  o  clock 
was  Lee  ready  lor  breakfast !  ,  „ , 

•'Rather  late  that,  I  confess,"  said  Pembcrton ;      he 
was  not  the  early  bird  that  catches  the  worm." 

.'No,  indeed,  he  was  the  foolish  bird  that  the  fowler 
caught  He  wasted  full  two  hours  in  ciuarn-Uing  with 
some  Connect!,  ut  privates,  then,  after  breakfast,  he  sits 
down  to  write  to  Gates.  Was  barely  through  with  t^he 
letter,  had  just  signed  his  name  at  the  bottom,  when  Wil- 
kinson, looking  out  of  the  window,  sees  a  party  of  British 
dragoons  dashing  up  the  lane.  '  The  Briti^sh  are  on  you  ! 
shouts  Wilkinson.  'Where's  the  guard?  D-n  the 
guard,  why  don't  they  fire?  '  cried  Lee." 
■«' Where  were  the  guards?" 

"Like  master  like  man,  slovenly  general,  slovenly  dis- 
cipline; the  guards  had  stacked  their  arms,  and  gone  off 
to  sun  themselves.  Before  they  knew,  the  red  coats  were 
upon  them,  and  they  scattering  in  all  directions.  Then 
a  voice  shouted,  '  Come  out,  General,  or  we'll  burn  you 
out  '  And  again,  '  Come  out  at  once,  curse  you,  we  ve 
no  "time  to  lose.'  The  General  walked  out,  they  knew 
their  man,  in  slippers  and  blanket-coat  and  bareheaded  ; 
they  mounted  him  as  he  was,  on  Wilkinson's  horse,  which 
stood  saddled  and  bridled  at  the  door,  and  clattered  off 
triumphantly  to  New  Brunswick." 

"They  did  not  stay  then  to  make  the  General  s  suite 

^""  Thly'  were  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  for  that.  But  the 
cream  of  the  joke  is  yet  to  come.  When  they  first  gal- 
loped up,  Wilkinson  had  possessed  himself  of  Lee  s  letter 
to  Gates,  which  was  lying  on  the  table.  And  I  know  not 
whether  he  read  it  then  and  there,  or  whether  Gates 
showed  it  to  him  afterward,  but  he  says  the  letter  was  full 


,  Jii^M^t^  •-*-■' 


hing.     Washington 
Not  till  ten  o'clock 

d  Pembcrtonj  "he 

I  worm." 

bird  that  the  fowler 
in  quarn-lling  with 
cr  breakfast,  he  sits 
ly  through  with  the 
;  bottom,  when  Wil- 
es a  party  of  British 
British  are  on  you!' 
guard?  D— n  the 
:e." 

reneral,  slovenly  dis- 
r  arms,  and  gone  off 
r,  the  red  coats  were 

II  directions.  Then 
1,  or  we'll  burn  you 
ce,  curse  you,  we've 
Iked  out,  they  knew 
aat  and  bareheaded ; 
kinson's  horse,  which 
3or,  and  clattered  off 

e  the  General's  suite 

rry  for  that.  But  the 
When  they  first  gal- 
limselfof  Lee's  letter 
)le.  And  I  know  not 
re,  or  whether  Gates 
iays  the  letter  was  full 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AOO.  123 

Of  sarcastic  comments  on  Washington's  want  of  general- 

shi ,      One  sentence  in  particular  he  remembers,  where 

Le  'said  that,  between  himself  and  Gates,  ;  a  certam  great 

man  was  most  damnably  deficient  m  m.htary  ab.l.ty.  , 

The  ink  was  hardly  dry  before  the  red-coats  galloped  up 

the  lane,  and  proved  Lee  'most  damnaby  deficient,   I  j 

think,     it's  a  splendid  joke,  is  it  not?    All  the  army  is  ! 

""""^^l^Ic^  soon  in  that  case,"  replied  Pem- 
berton  "  But,  Phil,  it  sounds  very  tfdd  to  hear  you  talk- 
ing in"  so  loose  a  strain,  with  that  Quaker  coat  on  I 
should  think  that  you  could  not  utter  an  oath  in  that      ^ 

^''a' do  find  it  difficult,"  laughed  Morris ;  "  but,  then,  4 

on  the  other  hand.  I  feel  an  almost  irresistible  propensity 

"^r^VsChil.  Phil,  don't  catch  up  the  slang  of  the 
streets     You  know  that  that  is  false.     And,  by  the  way 
I  fear  you  rather  overdo  your  part  as  aQuaker  preacher 

«'  Of  course ;  you  suspected  who  it  was,  all  along !     Un- 
doubtedly!    Oh,  Arthur!" 

«<  No,  I  own  up  frankly  that  you  deceived  me  entirely, 

after  his  court-martial  and  .entence  of  one  ^^^J^^^;^  Washington  , 

Monn-outh.  -"'^ -"^''^ f^:^  ^^^^^^^  AicU.  in^^hich  Lee  was 

'''  '7.     He"  edfromt^  attack  of  chill,  and  fever  in  Philadelphia  in  .78..  and 

wounded.    M"  ^■':f/™^^^\"^„„„d,  notwithstanding  the  following  curious  passage  , 

was  buried  in  Christ-churcn  grom    ,  church  or 

i„Hiswin^"Id.ireu.sj^y_^  m  y ^ 

churchyard,  or  w.thu»  a  mile  o.  an>  i-resnyie  compan   wh  le  living.  '■ , 

since  I  have  resided  in  this  country    ''-^ ''^^^  ^'^';^^3'^  „,«  popular,  is  i|,ii 

''^^'^t"r^^rrr^:^tut:^^n:rtHi.e  hs  .^eralwas  liijijl 

proven  by  the  faLt  that  he  was  our  and  a  large  concourse  of  ;■" 

He  died  unmarried.  '  ,      ' 


m 


124 


rEMIlF.RToN 


nt  the  time ;  but  I  think  my  suspicions  would  have  arisen 
after  reflection." 

"  That  is  because  you  know  the  genuine  article.  But 
these  red-coats  do  not.  I  must  act  up— or  down— to 
their  conceptions  of  the  character.  If  I  were  simply  to 
give  them  nature,  they  would  suspect  me.  A  country 
Ouaker  preacher,  who  wxs  not  something  of  a  crazy 
liigot,  would  make  them  open  their  eyes  suspiciously. 
But  I  give  them  what  they  will  consider  tlie  genuine 

article."  , 

'« I  think  we  have  talked  quite  long  enough  together, 
said  Pembcrton,  rising.     "  Do  not  forget  yourself,  outside 

of  that  door." 

«  Trust  me  for  that,  my  son,"  replied  Morris,  resummg 
his  hat  and  wig,  casting  his  countenance  into  a  cold,  cast- 
iron  mould,  and  speaking  as  with  a  new  voice,  which 
proved  his  wonderful  power  of  mimicry.  ''And  now, 
having  delivered  the  message  with  which  I  was  sent,  I  will 
cry  aloud  as  one  did  formerly— yea,  as  David  did,  when 
he  was  a  wanderer,  and  peradventure  in  deep  affliction- 
no  doubt  alluding  to  the  spiritual  horse— '  a  horse,  a  horse, 
my  kingdom  for  a  horse ! '  " 

"  That's  stolen,  Phil,"  said  Pemberton  laughing. 

«'My  young  friend,  thou  art  wrong,  and  slanderous, 
and  presumptuous!  A  man  cannot  steal  what  has  no 
owner— therefore  I  have  not  stolen ;  nay,  verdy,  I  have 

only  appropriated."  ,.,.., 

"Well,  grow  serious,  Phil.     I  am  about  to  unbolt  the 

door."  .    , 

"One  word   first,"   said   Morris,  pulhng  off  his  hat 

and  wig  again.     "  How  is  thai  beautiful  Miss  Graham  ?  " 
"  Miss  Isabella  is  as  well  and  beautiful  as  ever,"  replied 

Pemberton,  gravely.  ,.      „  ,  t    u  «    •» 

"  Pshaw— I  mean  the  other.  Miss  Helen.     Isabella  is 


OR,    ONE    IIUNnRKD    YKARS    AOO. 


"S 


as  would  have  arisen 

Tcnuinj  article.  But 
( t  up — or  down — to 
If  I  were  simply  to 
)ect  me.  A  country 
jmething  of  a  crazy 
eir  eyes  suspiciously. 
;onsider  »he  genuine 

ig  enough  together," 
orget  yourself,  outside 

ilied  Morris,  resuming 
ince  into  a  cold,  cast- 
a  new  voice,  which 
micry.  *'And  now, 
rhich  I  was  sent,  I  will 
.,  as  David  did,  when 
e  in  deep  affliction — 
rse — 'ahorse, a  horse, 

)erton  laughing, 
ong,  and  slanderous, 
ot  steal  what  has  no 
I ;  nay,  verily,  I  have 

a  about  to  unbolt  the 

;,  pulling  off  his  hat 
utiful  Miss  Graham?" 
utiful  as  ever,"  replied 

iss  Helen.     Isabella  is 


too  cold  and  stately  for  me.  But  Helen  Graham  is  cer- 
tainly the  most  beautiful  and  ftiscinating  woman  the  good 
Lord  ever  made." 

"I  disagree  entirely  with  you,  Phil — I  think  Miss  Isa- 
bella the  most  charming  and  beautiful  woman  the  good 
Lord  ever  made — but  I  hope  you  are  not  growing  foolish 
over  Helen  Graham.  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  your  wound 
and  the  loss  of  blood  that  made  you  act  so  funnily  the 
other  day  at  Germantown.  Really  I  could  hardly  believe 
that  that  serious,  sentimental  youth,  kissing  a  lady's  rosy 
fingers,  was  the  same  old  laughing,  reckless  Phil  I  used  to 
know,  and  whom  I  see  here  to-day." 

"  Be  merciful,  Arth  !"  replied  Phil,  with  r.  lugubrious  ex- 
pression of  countenance.  "  But  really  that  Miss  Helen  (iisci- 
nates  me  so,  that  I  am  no  longer  myself  in  her  presence." 

"And  you  a  good  Whig,  too !  Why  Helen  is  as  rank 
and  bitter  a  Tory  as  you  can  find  in  the  State." 

"  I  don't  care  if  she  is — we  don't  fight  with  women." 

"  And  cares  more  for  the  little  finger  of  a  certain  British 
officer,  than  for  your  whole  body." 

"  Do  you  mean  Captain  Andr6?" 

"I  do." 

"  Well,  he  is  a  handsome  fellow — for  an  Englishman,  but 
she  has  seen  him  fifty  times  to  where  she  has  seen  me  once. ' ' 

"  I  wish  she  could  see  you  with  that  hat  and  wig  on — 
and  yet  it  would  be  dangerous,  for  she  has  sharp  eyes,  and 
she  might  think  it  her  duty  to  give  you  to  the  halter." 

"Let  us  try  her,"  replied  Morris,  rising.     "Of  course 
she  would  know  me ;  but  if  she  would  betray  me — well,  I 
"would  be  ready  to  die  then." 

"  Phil — in  one  word,  and  it  is  better  said  now  at  once, 
Helen  Graham  is  entirely  beyond  your  reach.     She  loves 
another — and  would  not  love  you,  a  Whig,  if  she  were 
fancy  free.     Think  no  more  of  her." 
ii''' 


1 1 ' 

!  ' 


136 


PEMIIRRTON  ; 


"  Arthur  Vcmbcrton-clid  I  ever  give  up  anytlung  be- 
cause it  was  dilTiriiU?"  ,       ^         ,         , 
.'  No  •'  laughcl  Arthur,  "  I  will  say  that  for  such  a  rat- 
tlecap,  you  were  alwavs  the  most  pertinacious  and  obsti- 
nate of  created  beings!" 

-Others  may  doubt  and  despond  as  to  the  success  of 
our  arms,  I  never  doubt  it.  If  we  persevere  to  the  end 
we  shall  win.  The  eye  that  never  blenches,  the  cheek  that 
never  pales,  the  hand  that  never  falters-these,  in  the  end, 
win  the  victory  1  What  I  am  in  war,  old  fellow,  and  he 
laid  his  hand  affectionately  upon  Arthurs  shoulder,  1 
am  in  love.  I  mean  to  win  Helen  Graham." 
Pemberton  shook  his  head. 

«'  I  mean  to  wi.A  her !  As  to  loving  her,  I  canno.  help 
myself  Tlie  tho.ight  of  her  puts  me  in  a  fermer^t  -the 
sight   of   her,   as  you  saw,   makes  a  different  man  of 

me."  .        .        , 

"This  is  folly,  Phil,"  said  Arthur,  m  a  low  voice— 
"  that  folly  which  leads  to  bitterness  and  heart-break.  I 
tell  you  as  a  secret,  trusting  it  to  your  honor-because  I 
would  save  you  and  her  needlois  pain-that  I  have  the  best 
of  reasons  for  believing  that  Helen  vs  betrothed  to  Captam 

%inip  gasped  as  if  he  had  received  a  stab.     "Be  it  so," 
.     he  said,  after  a  pause ;  "  I  still  love  her,  and  shall  never 
cease  to  love  her." 

Then,  resuming  some  of  his  former  defiant  recklessness 
of  manner,  he  added-"  Arth,  when  I  see  her  the  wife  of 
another  man,  and  half-a-dozen  children  around  her  knees, 
I  will  give  up  my  case  as  hopeless.  But  not  till  then. 
You  know  my  motto-which  has  brought  me  through  so 
many  desperate  places-' Never    despair!'     I  wiU  win 

Helen  Graham!" 

'A  wilful  man  will  have  his  way;  and  if  you  ever  get 


jive  up  anything  be- 

y  that  for  such  a  rat- 
rtinacious  and  obsti- 

1  as  to  the  success  of 
persevere  to  the  end, 
L-nches.  the  cheek  that 
:rs — these,  in  the  end, 
•,  old  fellow,"  and  he 
irthur's  shoulder,  "I 
Graham." 

ng  her,  I  canno..  help 
me  in  a  fermfct!t--the 
i  a  different  min   of 

hur,  in  a  low  voice — 
ss  and  heart-break.  I 
your  honor — because  I 
n — that  I  have  the  best 
vs  betrothed  to  Captain 

;dastab.  "Be  it  so," 
fe  her,  and  shall  never 

ner  defiant  recklessness 
en  I  see  her  the  wife  of 
Idren  around  hei  knees, 
;ss.  But  not  till  then, 
brought  me  through  so 
despair  !*     I  will  win 

ly ;  and  if  you  ever  get 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  U? 

Helen  Graham,  there  will  be  two  wilful' people,  that  is 
all,"  replied  I'cinberton. 

"I  hope  that  won't  be  a//,  Arth,"  replied  Phil,  laugh- 
ing. "  l?ut  as  you  find  I  am,  as  of  old,  utterly  unper- 
suadable and  unconvertible  from  anything  that  1  have  made 
lip  my  mind  to,  suppose  I  resume  the  costume  of  the  sect 
of  whose  stubbornness  and  obstinacy  I  have  inherited  such 
a  distinguished  share,  and  visit  some  more  of  the 
brethren." 

"One  word  further,"  said  Pemberton  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  intend  to  change  our  plan  as  to  showing  flags.  Some 
one  may  grow  suspicious.  After  the  first  of  next  month, 
we  will  show  the  largest  flag  while  all  the  royal  troops  re- 
main  in  the  city.  If  they  should  all  march  out— or  nearly 
all— we  will  haul  down  the  flag  entirely.      How  does  it 

strike  you?" 

"  It  is  an  excellent  plan  to  throw  suspicion  off  the  scent 
—that  is,  if  Foxey  can  be  made  to  ur  lerstand  the  change, 
and  does  not  blunder." 

"Oh,  I'll  see  to  that.  Have  you  any  difficulty  in 
making  the  signals  out  ?" 

"  None  in  the  least— especially  with  field  glasses.  We 
have  ihree  excellent  points  of  observation— a  house  on  the 
Ridge,  one  on  the  other  side  of  the  Schuylkill,  and  one  in 
Jersey.  They  all  notify  headquarters— and  the  Jersey  sta- 
tion the  forts  also.  But  I  really  must  go  now.  Some- 
body may  steal  my  poultry." 

Morris  resumed  his  disguise,  and,  as  Pemberton  un- 
bolted and  opened  the  door,  his  face  grew  almost  severe 
in  its  solemnity. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  flight  of  stairs  they  encountered 
Fox.     The  apparent  Quaker  paused  before  him. 

"Art  thou  a  son  of  Ham?  then  art  thou  still  in  the 
bondage  of  sin  and  the  mire  of  corruption  1" 


111;. 


138 


I'EMnF.RTON  ; 


1 


-Wlul'H  ycr  say,  Mas'?  O'  course  I'sc  fon  of  ham. 
rs  berry  fun'  of  lu.n,  su'h  Dinah,  so's  the  ,„.  kanu^mcs 

-l  am  fcarfnl  tins  is  a  degenerate  .on  of  i.era.t.un. 
Necro,  what  is  thy  name?"  »•>.  ,i.,f 

.^.-oxey-Mas'.     Fox-George  Fox-Mas'.     Am  t  dat 

ver  a  irood  name  ?  .       »  r 

Deigning  no  re,.ly,  the  seen.ing  Qnaker  placed  one  of 

his  hands  (m  the  negro's  heatl.  •   j  »,,« 

..  Foxey,  Fox.  George  Fox-min.l  the  l.ght.  m.nd  the 

light !  dost  understand?  mind  tl>e  light  1 

"Yes  Mas',  I  'tend  to  miml  all  de  hghts-m.ss.3  am 
berry  parti,  uler  about  dat."  s.ud  the  negro,  as  the  seem- 
ing Quaker  i>:.ssed  on  to  the  front  door;  and  U.en.  shak- 
ing kvuls  solemnly  with  Pemberton.  got  into  h.s  wagon, 

and  drove  off.  ,    .,.,„_  m 

-Dat's  a  mighty  queer  ole  gcmman,  Mas    Arthur, 
said  Fox.  as  I'emberton  closed  the  door,     ''l-^   fj-™ 
-of  course  I  is  fon'  of  ham.     Ha,  ha,  Mas  Arthur,  a 
berry  funny  ole  gemman." 

./how  about  the  flags,  Foxcy  ?    Does  the  proud  ensign 
of  Britain  still  flout  the  air?"  ^^ 

"Say  dat  agin,  Mas'  Arthur."  „  \  ,,      •  ,.. 

"  Does  the  proud  ensign  of  Britain  stdl  flout  the  air? 
repeated  Pemberton,  smiling.  ,  t,  •.  • 

"  Dat's  berry  purty.     Docs  de  proud  cnsime  of  Britain 
flog  de  air !     I  mus'  recommember  dat." 

"  How  about  the  flags,  Foxey  ?    I  have  only  seen  that 
smallest  one  for  some  time  now." 

"  De  berry  littlest  one.  Mas'  Arthur,"  said  the  negro, 
his  eve  lighting  with  a  little  extra  intelligence. 

"How  would  it  do  to  give  that  one  a  rest,  and  fly  a 
rather  larger  one-say  the  next  size  larger,  Foxey  ? 

"  De  berry  ting.  Mas'  Arth.     I'll  run  him  up,  dis  berry 
subjunctive  moment." 


OR,   ONF,   HlTNPRF.n   YEARS  AOO. 


139 


rse  I'sc  fon*  of  ham, 
)'s  tlie  i)i(k;uunnics." 
.itc  son  of  i)crilitioii. 

ox-Mas'.     Ain't  dat 

Quaker  placed  one  of 

(1  the  light,  mind  the 
light  1" 

1  tie  lights— missis  am 
ho  negro,  as  the  sccm- 
(loor  ;  and  then,  shak- 
n,  got  into  his  wagon, 

mman,  Mas'  Arthur," 

door.     "  Fon'  of  ham 

Ha,  ha,  Mas'  Arthur,  a 

Does  the  proud  ensign 

ain  still  flout  the  air?" 

proud  ensime  of  Britain 
:rdat." 
I  have  only  seen  that 

rthur,"  said  the  negro, 
L  intelligence, 
hat  one  a  rest,  and  fly  a 
ize  larger,  Foxey?" 
I'll  run  him  up,  dis  berry 


As  the  negro  mounted  \\\c  stairs,  he  niiglit  lie  heard 
trying  to  repeat  liie  |)1u:i,m  which  liad  so  charinid  liiin — 
especially  tl»e  "prouil  ci  me,"  and  "  flog  de  air,"  which 
latter  he  evidently  thought  a  most  luxppy  conception. 

That  afternoon  I'eniherton  strolled  around  but  heard 
nothing  of  interest,  save  that  Tarleton  had  gone  off,  as  he 
llireatened,  on  the  trat  k  of  Captain  M(  Lane.  lUit  late 
in  the  evening  Tarleton's  party  returned,  tired  and  dis- 
heartened. Tarleton  himself  gave  the  curious  questioners 
no  satisfai  tion  ;  but  his  men  couUl  not  keep  so  (  areful  a 
guard  over  their  tongues.  They  had  got  on  the  trail  of 
McLane  near  Frank  ford — had  found  him  alone,  and 
hemmed  him  in.  When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  noted 
partisan,  he  was  riding  (piietly  along,  and  seemed  to  medi- 
tate no  resistance.  Two  of  Tarleton's  men  had  spurred 
lip  to  capture  him,  one  on  each  side,  and  as  they  neared 
him,  let  their  swords  fall  in  their  slings  to  have  their  right 
hands  free  to  grasp  his  shoulders.  But  McLane,  at  the 
last  moment,  had  rapidly  drawn  a  heavy  pistol,  shot  one 
trooper  through  the  head,  kno(  ked  the  other  senseless 
from  his  saddle  with  the  discharged  weapon,  leaped  the 
fence,  and  escaped  into  an  adjacent  woods.  Tarleton  was 
angry  enough  to  have  shot  a  dozen  men,  but  his  mortifi- 
cation was  so  great  that  he  did  not  utter  even  a  single 
oath,  after  the  first  fiery,  tremendous  imprecation.  His 
dragoons  joked  about  it,  when  well  out  of  hearing,  saying 
that  if  McLane  went  on,  he  would  end  in  making  the 
Major  quite  a  religious  character. 


/ 


M ' 


s 

1  i' 


13° 


PEMBERTON  J 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PRO   AND   CON. 

Men  have  two  eyes  and  power  of  mental  motion 
That  they  may  see  all  siJes  of  everything ; 
And  Icar..  sweet  Charity  and  Christian  Love 
Even  for  those  they  earnestly  oppose. 
None  are  entirely  right,  and  none  al'  wrong. 

AwBREand  Pemberton,  though  *=y  "  f -"^^  *^ 
„ar„,es.  of  friends,  seldom  conver^d  upon  .h  g«a.  nd 
absorhing  question  of  the  day     A    «-.  */  ^^^  ^^^^^^ 

r::  i"  rr^r  0^^*"*=^  had  4  a  .nd  or 

«:ardeTs.a„d.gag...o..e.Bu.ono,,ep^ 

Sunday  f""-'"'!''ti!!r„  a  natural  forest  of  oaks 
irtfes^'^a  rSer  on  to  the  han.s  oUhe^^au. 

fh^r  oX  fo:  «;:tl~nded  L  DeUware-for 
I'icSattack  by  Lord  Cor„»a.Us  '-^d  l-ed^--- 
cessful  than  the  Hessian  attack  under  Count  Donop-tne 
dest  ut=  condition  of  the  .rmy  at  Whiten,arsh  owmg  m 
al  eat  degree  to  a  badly  managed  commrssarrat,  a,,d  the 
"and  deprecation  of  the  Continental  paper  money,  looW 
fcour^ing  enough  iust  then,  notwithsUndmg  the  defeat 
and  capture  of  Burgoyne. 

As  we  calmly  and  dispassionately  gare  l««:l=  "P°"  »= 
8eU  from  this  distance  of  time,  the  game  seerned  up-  he 
™„  and  castles  taken,  and  the  king  »;.h  but  a  few 
mo^«  left  upon  the  board  before  encountermg  the  .nevit- 
rb"nhLkmate.  If  Franklin  had  not  succeeded  ,n  nego^ 
tiating  the  French  Alliance,  it  ,s  very  d.fficult  to  avo.a 


n; 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AC.O. 


131 


XII. 

:oN. 

r  of  mental  motion 
fcvcrytliing; 
Christian  Love 
'  oppose, 
none  al'  wrong. 

igh  they  had  become  the 
'ersed  upon  the  great  and 
At  first  they  had  often 
;h,  each  finding  the  other 
)ns,  they  had  by  a  kind  of 
iffer.     But  on  one  pleasant 
took  a  stroll  out  through 
len  a  natural  forest  of  oaks 
to  the  banks  of  the  beauti- 
the  subject.     In  truth,  the 
Philadelphia,  followed  by 
manded  the  Delaware— for 
vallis  had  proved  .nore  suc- 
t  under  Count  Donop— the 
ly  at  Whitenjarsh,  owing  in 
aged  commissariat,  and  the 
mental  paper  money,  looked 
,  notwithstanding  the  defeat 

inately  gaze  back  upon  the 
e,  the  game  seemed  up — the 
id  the  king  with  but  a  few 
fore  encountering  the  inevit- 
1  had  not  succeeded  in  nego- 
it  is  very  difficult  to  avoid 


the  conclusion  that  the  Revolution  would  have  failed,  and 
Independence  have  been  put  off  for  fifty  or  even  a  hun- 
dred years. 

But  your  "  ifs  "  are  pregnant  things.  The  persuasive 
philosopher  did  not  fail— and  the  sword  of  Charlemagne 
was  thrown  into  the  scale  of  Destiny. 

"  Pemberton,"  said  Andre,  as  they  stood  in  the  warm 
sun  of  tiiat  November  day,  and  looked  up  and  down  the 
graceful  windings  uf  the  "hidden  river,"  "this  is  too 
bright  and  beautiful  a  world  to  be  the  abode  of  hatred  and 
contention— especially  the  hatred  and  contention  of  bro- 
thers.    Why  cannot  this  unnatural  war  be  ended  ?  " 

"It  can,  very  easily.  Let  Sir  William  Howe  and  his 
soldiers  embark  for  home,  and  the  land  will  be  at  peace." 

"Would  it  be  at  peace?  Would  there  not  begin  at 
once  a  hunting  down  and  hanging  of  all  its  sons  who  had 
proven  their  loyalty  to  their  king?" 

"I  think  not,  if  it  were  agreed  that  the  lives  and  pro- 
perty of  the  Tories  should  be  held  sacred,  as  the  price  of 
peace  and  independence." 

"  Independence ;  what  a  delusive  word  that  is.  I  won- 
der, Pemberton,  that  a  man  of  your  fine  sense  can  be  de- 
luded by  it.  Do  you  not  see  that  you  cannot  be  inde- 
pendent ?  That  you  are  not  strong  enough  to  be  so  ?  In 
the  very  nature  of  the  case,  you  must  lean  upon  and  be 
protected  by  one  of  the  great  European  Powers,  you  must 
be  the  child  or  ward  either  of  France  or  of  England.  Are 
you  not  already  seeking  the  protection  of  France,  con- 
scious that  you  cannot  standalone?  The  only  real  and 
practical  question,  therefore,  is,  shall  these  Colonies  be- 
long to  England  or  to  France?  To  Protestant  England, 
or  to  Roman  Catholic  France  ?  Shall  they  strengthen  the 
great  European  bul»vark  of  the  Protestant  cause,  or  shall 
they  strengthen  the  favorite  son  of  Rome?    I,  as  a  child 


132 


PEMBERTON  ; 


'    1,1 


^I'i- 


of  the  Huguenots— those  hunted  exiles  from  the  Papal 
scourge— wonder  that  any  man  with  English  blood  in  his 
veins,  and  with  Protestant  blood  in  his  veins,  can  give 
other  than  one  indignant  answer." 

"Andre,  my  dear  friend,"  replied  Pemberton,  "look- 
ing at  the  question  from  your  point  of  view,  I  might 
answer  as  you  do.  But  if  I  know  the  temper  of  my  coun- 
trymen, and  of  our  leading  classes— and  you  know  this 
Revolution  was  made  by  our  best  and  ablest  men,  our 
Colonial  aristocracy,  if  I  may  use  the  word  ;  men  who 
rebelled  not  so  much  against  despotic  and  grievous  mea- 
sures, as  against  despotic  and  unjust  principles,  seeing  to 
what  in  practice  they  would  ultimately  lead— if  I  under- 
stand the  temper  and  feelings  of  these  men,  we  intend  just 
as  little  to  be  the  tool  and  puppet  of  Roman  Catholic 
France  as  of  Protestant  England." 

"I  suppose,  of  course,  you  do  not  intend  it— but  my 
argument  is  that  you  cannot  avoid  it ;  that  you  will  inevi- 
tably be  compelled,  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances,  to 
lean  upon  one  or  the  other  nation  for  guidance  and  sup- 
port." 

"  And  I  hold  that  the  Colonies  are  no  longer  children 
—that  they  have  become  of  age,  and  are  entitled  to  the 
rank  of  States,  with  the  liberty  of  acting  for  themselves." 
"Parson  Duche,  your  eloquent  divine,  does  not  think 
so.  Have  you  heard  that  he  has  written  to  Washington, 
advising  him  to  give  up  the  struggle.  He  was  heartily 
with  you,  the  lauded  chaplain  of  your  Congress,  until  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  was  adopted  ;  then  he  saw 
the  folly  of  the  thing,  as  I  do.     Have  you  heard  of  his 

letter?" 

"Yes,  and  that  Washington  instantly  sent  it  on  to 
Congress  for  their  information.  If  Duche  thinks  he  is 
doing  right,  if  he  is  acting  according  to  his  sincerest  and 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


^3i 


;xilcs  from  the  Papal 

English  blood  in  his 

n  his  veins,  can  give 

d  Pemberton,  "look- 
)int  of  view,  I  might 
le  temper  of  my  coun- 
— and  you  know  this 
,  and  ablest  men,  our 
the  word  ;  men  who 
)tic  and  grievous  mea- 
t  principles,  seeing  to 
tely  lead— if  I  under- 
:se  men,  we  intend  just 
ct  of  Roman  Catholic 

not  intend  it — ^but  my 
it ;  that  you  will  inevi- 
e  of  circumstances,  to 
for  guidance  and  sup- 
are  no  longer  children 
d  are  entitled  to  the 
icting  for  themselves. ' ' 
divine,  does  not  think 
written  to  Washington, 
ggle.  He  was  heartily 
■our  Congress,  until  the 
adopted ;  then  he  saw 
Save  you  heard  of  his 

(istantly  sent  it  on  to 
If  Duche  thinks  he  is 
ing  to  his  sincerest  and 


best  judgiuent — you  know  I  am  not  a  fanatic,  if  I  am  a 
Whig — I  do  not  blame  him." 

"Judge  Chew,  Beverly  Robinson,  Mr.  Galloway,  your 
cousin  James,  and  the  dozen  other  leading  gentlemen  that 
your  Congress  banished  to  Virginia,and  thousands  of  others 
whom  they  represent,  and  who  went  with  you  so  long  as 
it  was  a  mere  question  of  your  rights  as  Englishmen,  see 
this  matter  almost  as  I  do.  Why  even  tivit  clever  Mr. 
Dickinson,  who  wrote  your  famous  '  Farmer's  Letters ' 
against  the  foolish  course  of  the  Ministry — you  know  I  am 
with  you  on  that  question — is  opposed  to  the  notion  of  in- 
dependence. The  brave  and  intelligent  Governor  Frank- 
lin, too,  takes  sides  against  his  father  in  this  matter." 

"All  very  worthy  and  estimable  gentlemen,  doubtless," 
replied  Pemberton,  smiling.  "But  you  know,  Andre,  my 
dear  fellow,  I  always  do  my  own  thinking." 

"  And  Lord  Chatham  too,  who  has  stood  your  friend  in 
Parliament,  through  thick  and  thin,  till  now,  he  says  he 
never  will  consent  to  sever  so  wide  a  region  from  the  do- 
minion of  the  British  crown." 

"  I  admire  and  respect  Lord  Chatham,  and,  in  common 
with  the  rest  of  my  countrymen,  thank  him  most  deeply 
for  his  many  noble  and  generous  efforts  in  our  behalf. 
But  Andr6,  it  is  natural  that  a  born  Englishman,  who  ex- 
pects to  live  and  die  in  England,  should  see  this  matter 
from  a  point  of  view  very  different  from  ours." 

"  And  I  suppose,"  commented  Andr6,  a  little  ironically, 
for  he  was  in  great  earnest,  and  deeply  moved,  "  that  as 
you  colonists  hold  that  all  men  are  created  equal,  the 
opinion  of  the  Earl  of  Chatham  has  no  more  weight  with 
you  than  the  opinion  of  your  old  negro  Foxie." 

"  Do  you  not  think,  upon  consideration,  that  younre  a 
little  unjust  in  saying  that?"  responded  Pemberton,  in  a 
warmer  tone  than  he  had  hitherto  used. 

12 


'3     I 


■";r-': 


I   I 


l# 


134 


PEMnERTON ; 


•I  I' 


'lii!! 


'V 


AndrC-  paused  a  moment  before  he  replied.     "  Indee.l, 
Pemberton,  it  seems  to.me  that  I  a,n  not  in  the  least  un- 
iust      That  is,  if  you  adhere  to  an.l  support  the  Independ- 
ence declaration.     It  says,  as  I  well  remember,  be.-a..^>t 
struck  me  as  such  a  piece  of  absurdity  for  a  re.pecAable 
b  dy  like  your  Congress  to  put  forth,  '  Wc.  ho U   .t   o  be 
self-evident  that  all  men  are  created  eciual.'     If   ha  doc 
not  put  Lord  Chatham  and  old  Foxie  on  a  level,  then  I 
do  not  understand  the  meaning  of  words. 

.<Inone  sense  I  hold  they  are  on  a  level ;  tha  Fox.e 
has  just  as  clear  a  right  to  the  enjoyment  of  h.s  bfe  and 
liberty,  and  to  pursue  his  happiness  as  he  sees  fit,  as  Lord 

Chatham  has." 

♦  •  Then  why  do  you  hold  Foxie  as  a  slave  ? 

"  I  do  not ;  Foxie  is  a  free  man." 

"  That  is  simi.ly  because  of  your  Quaker  prmc.ples ;  but 
the  great  body  of  your  countrymen  have  no  such  scnvi-.les, 
an  1  I  find  negro  slaves,  and  sometimes  thousands  of  them, 
h"  very  one  of  your  colonies.  Washington  holds  slaves, 
Jnd  your  Mr.  Jc-fferson,  who  penned,  I  believe,  that  fine 
saying  about  equality,  holds  slaves  h.mse  f. 

"  That  only  proves  our  laws  and  ourselves  ^consistent 
not  that  the'principle  is  false.     And  if  we  estabhsh  the 
principle,  it  will,  slowly  perhaps,  but  surely,  work  out  t- 
extirpation  of  all  laws  and  customs  that  are  oppo  ed  to  it. 
WeTre  even  now  taking  steps  to  do  away  with  slavery  in 

^'"  Buraccording  to  your  own  statement,  if  you  establish 
a  false  principle  it  will  be  continually  evolvmg  misc:hief^ 
Now,  granting,  for  the  moment,  that  all  men  are  equal  m 
^,e  ense  you  mention,  your  assertion  of  equality  is  an 
abso  ute  one.  You  make  no  mention  of  the  natural  in- 
enuX  between  men.  Depend  upon  it  that  if  you  sue 
eed  in  establishing  a  Republic,  with  that  Declaration  as 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


135 


;  replied.  "  Indeed, 
1  not  in  the  least  un- 
upportlhe  Independ- 
remeniber,  berause  it 
■dity  for  a  respectable 
h,  '  We  hold  it  to  be 
eiiual.'  If  that  docs 
xie  on  a  level,  then  I 
^ords." 

)n  a  level ;  that  Foxie 
)yment  of  his  life  and 
as  he  sees  fit,  as  Lord 

s  a  slave  ?' ' 
I 

Quaker  principles ;  but 
have  no  such  scruples, 
mes  thousands  of  them, 
ashington  holds  slaves, 
led,  I  believe,  that  fine 
himself." 

I  ourselves  inconsistent, 
And  if  we  establish  the 
)ut  surely,  work  out  the 
s  that  are  opposed  to  it. 
do  away  with  slavery  in 

atement,  if  you  establish 
ually  evolving  mischief, 
hat  all  men  are  equal  in 
ertion  of  equality  is  an 
ntion  of  the  natural  in- 
upon  it  that  if  you  suc- 
with  that  Declaration  as 


its  corner-stone,  you  will  find  the  great  masses  of  the  peo- 
ple— even  the  most  ignorant  and  vicious  of  them — con- 
tinually asserting  their  belief  that  they,  being  equal,  are 
fiilly  as  capable  of  managing  all  governmental  affairs  as 
the  wisest  and  best  men  among  you.  You  will  become 
the  i)rey  of  vulgar  and  nnpr.'ncipled  demagogues.  Why, 
even  your  leading  classes  themselves — or  those  who  should 
be  the  leading  classes — will  learn  to  doubt  their  own 
ability  and  fitness  to  rule,  and,  in  thus  doubting,  will  lose 
the  ability  itself.  A  majority— a  mere  majority  of  num- 
bers, without  regard  to  intellect  or  culture — will  think 
itself  authorized  to  settle  all  questions,  alike  of  politics, 
religion  and  morals,  and  you,  and  other  intelligent  men  like 
you,  will  find  the  little  finger  of  this  legal  mob  misrule 
thicker  than  the  King  of  England's  loins." 

"  You  draw  a  terrible  picture,"  said  Temberton  smiling, 
"and  I  might  admit  its  truth,  if  I  could  imagine  that  the 
great  fact  of  the  natural  inequality  of  men,  could  ever  be 
obliterated  from  the  minds  of  a  peoplt  by  any  amount  of 
false  teaching." 

"You  admit  then,"  said  Andr6,  in  a  surprised  tone, 
"  that  your  vaunted  doctrine  of  Equality  has  a  flaw  in  it  ?" 

"  I  admit  this — that  all  men  are  created  equal.  And  I 
assert,  also,  that  all  men  are  created  unequal." 

"Are  you  not  rather  inconsistent,  my  friend  Arthur?  " 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Pemberton.  "You  know  how 
earnestly  all  we  colonists  have  studied  this  matter  of  gov- 
ernment, within  the  last  ten  years.  Now,  this  is  the  con- 
clusion that  I  for  one  have  come  to.  There  are  two  great 
facts  or  truths  of  human  existence,  i.  That  all  men  are 
Equal,  inasmuch  as  they  have  a  common  manhood,  and 
are  equally  entitled  to  the  enjoyment  of  life  and  liberty, 
and  to  pursue  their  own  happiness  in  their  own  way — of 
course  not  interfering  with  the  rights  or  happiness  of 


m 

11 


I 


J I 


;li 


'i: 


'3' 


I  ' 


hi' 


J .g  rKMRERTON ; 

others      2.  That   men  are  created  with  Unequal  powers 

nl.l  r-^nacities      If  you  kise  a  form  of  government  upon 

L    io     hese  facts  alone,  you  have,  as  the  ultimate  re- 

suit    a  vulgar,  unprincipled,  mobocrat.c  government-a 

"  vermZ  t  in  which  demagogues  become  for  selfish  ends 

I  nut       s  of  the  people-telling  them,   (as  court.ers 

the  lUttcrers  *     ,    ,   they  are  the  sole  source  of 

tell  despotic  ^-o-^'^ll^'"'.  ''^l  t,,,  you  finally  uprear  a 

power,  and  can  do  n  ^ro  g  ,  and        ^^>^  _^  ^^^^^^^  ^^^_ 

^r;^::;L:L":;:rU^eand  able  men  to  dash 

to  pieces."  .J.  succeed," 

"That  is  what   you  w:ll    come   w,  a    j 

inai  IS  w.      ;  .<vniir   famous  Ldierty  bell 

ZU  if  you  ba.,.  a  form  of  govemmen.  J"  «^=_^^'  f 
incumy  alone,  yo"  --  »- "^  ^^  l.^on  -  I,e 

^"en  such  as  Europe  was  in  .he  feudal  ages,  and,  m  a 

*".fTSri,'  i:  ir^^melhing  noble,  ref.ned  and  glorio« 

i„  Ari  ;^rLies,  the  governments  of  ^' ^Z:^ 

V.    ,    •    r    i.c  ••   rpnlied  Andr6  enthusiastically.        'jive 

^^"rrgtJ'X-greewith  ,ou."  said  Pemberton 
.  formy  fnstincts.  I  confess,  are  all  that  way-but  it  seems 


■Pl'l 

1  jl 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


137 


with  Unequal  powers 
1  of  government  upon 
ive,  as  the  ultimate  rc- 
jcratic  government — a 
become  for  selfish  ends 
ig  them,   (as  courtiers 
ire  the  sole  source  of 
thus  you  finally  uprear  a 
which  it  ultimately  be- 
:  and  able  men  to  dash 

to,  if  yon  succeed," 
ir  famous  Liberty  bell 
efore  it  was  put  up— and 
re  a  hundred  peals  have 

berton,  calmly.  "But 
finished.  On  the  other 
nment  upon  the  fact  of 
cind  of  an  Aristocracy- 
are  joked  upon  as  mere 
of  wood  and  drawers  of 
he  feudal  ages,  and,  in  a 

oble,  refined  and  glorious 
s  of  the  best,  even  with 
enthusiastically.  "Give 
I  times  over,  rather  than 
d  uncultivated  multitude, 
ipulous  demagogues,  who 
jassions  to  promote  their 

I  .you,"  said  Pemberton, 
all  that  way— but  it  seems 


to  me  there  is  a  government  better  than  either.  It  is  a 
government  based  upon  both  of  those  great  facts— Equality 
and  Inequality.  A  govenunent  which  shall  recognize 
natural  leadership,  and  yet  also  recognize  that  the  masses 
of  men  come  into  the  world  for  their  own  purposes,  and 
not  merely  to  be  the  tools  and  slaves  of  those  who  are 
more  gifted.  A  government  which  shall  hold  that  wjiile 
all  men  have  an  equal  right  to  be  governed  fairly  and 
justly,  shall  also  hold  that  all  have  not  an  equal  right  to 
be  legislators  and  governors — that  no  man  has  a  right  to 
fill  any  office,  legislative,  judicial  or  executive,  unless  he 
has  the  intelligence,  culture  and  character  to  perform  its 
duties  efficiently.  And  shall  be  thus  a  real  Aristocracy,  or 
government  of  the  best,  not  for  the  mere  selfish  interests 
of  that  ablest  class  alone,  but  for  the  promotion  of  the  great 
interests  of  all  the  nation.  And  I  should  call  this  not  a 
Democracy,  but  a  Republic." 

"  Pemberton,  my  dear  friend — you  do  not  suppose  that 
I,  of  all  men,  would  object  to  such  a  government  1  " 

"  Perhaps  not — but  you  are  fighting  against  it." 

"  What  a  dear,  delightful  visionary  you  are,  Arthur. 
Now  to  come  down  to  common  sense — not  Tom  Paine's, 
but  that  of  ordinary  mortals.  Did  you  ever  find  a  man 
who  would  accept  that  view  of  yours  of  what  your  govern- 
ment should  be !  " 

"  I  think  I  could  find  a  good  many ;  but  just  now, 
thanks  to  General  Howe  and  his  regiments,  we  have  more 
pressing  business  on  hand  than  discussing  how  our  turkey 
shall  be  cooked.     The  first  thing  is  to  catch  our  turkey." 

"  Well,  to  leave  these  theoretical  questions,  and  come 
back  again  to  the  great  practical  question — ^how  shall  this 
unholy  war  be  stopped  ?' ' 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  by  embracing  Sir  William's  modest 
offer ;  the  rebels  all  to  come  in  on  bended  knees,  with  hal- 
12* 


if 


til: 


.<fr 


138 


PEMBERTON  J 


<  1' 


ters  around  their  necks,  and  say  they  repent ;  aid  Sir  W  d- 
liam  in  return  to  give  them  absoUition ;  and  everything  to 
goon  in  the  same  delightful  manner  as  before,"  replied 
Pemberton  ironically. 

"Would  your  leaders  not  accept  a  settlement  on  the 
basis  of  Galloway's  proposition?  That  came  within  one 
vote  of  a  majority  in  Congress,  a  year  or  two  ago.  A  Gen- 
eral Council  to  be  established  for  the  Colonies— and  no 
law  to  be  considered  passed  that  does  not  meet  the  appro- 
bation both  of  your  Council  and  of  Parliament." 

'  Two  years  ago  that  might  haA'e  been  accepted  if  it  had 
been  generously  offered,"  said  Pemberton  musingly.  |'  I 
have  not  the  least  idea  that  it  would  be  accepted  now." 

"  Pemberton,"  said  Andrii,  in  a  lower  and  more  confi- 
dential tone,  "  I  do  not  deny  that  I  am  ambitious— but  I 
tnist  it  is  a  high  and  generous  ambition  that  I  cherish.  It 
would  be  a  feather  in  any  man's  cap  to  settle  this  unnatu- 
ral difficulty  without  further  bloodshed.  Why  cannot  you 
and  I  settle  it  here.  I  feel  sure  that  I  know  the  terms  on 
which  England  will  settle  it ;  and  probably  you  are  equally 
well  informed  as  to  the  ultimatum  of  your  countrymen.  I 
never  have  sought  to  penetrate  your  secrets,  any  more  than 
you  have  mine ;  but  I  know  that  you  are  in  correspondence 
with  all  their  leading  men.     What  say  you  ?' ' 

"  I  think  you  over-estimate  my  standing  and  importance, 
though  not  my  knowledge  of  the  feelings  of  my  country- 
men.    But  what  would  you  propose?" 

"  In  one  word,  what  you  choose ;  so  it  is  not  Independ- 
ence ■  The  claim  to  taxation  shall  be  given  up.  I  think 
it  only  fair  that  the  Colonies  should  agree  to  contribute 
something  toward  the  general  expenses  of  the  kingdom, 
for  the  army  and  navy  are  maintained  for  the  defence  of 
all.  But  we  will  not  even  stand  upon  that.  Everythmg 
shall  be  granted  but  Independence." 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YF.ARS  AGO. 


X39 


y  repent ;  .Tid  Sir  Wil- 
on  ;  and  everything  to 
eras  before,"  replied 

)t  a  settlement  on  the 
That  came  within  one 
ir  or  two  ago.     A  Gen- 

the  Colonies — and  no 
jes  not  meet  the  appro- 
f  Parliament." 

been  accepted  if  it  had 
nberton  musingly.     "  I 
d  be  accepted  now." 
I  lower  and  more  confi- 

I  am  ambitious — but  I 
ition  that  I  cherish.  It 
ap  to  settle  this  unnatu- 
shed.  Why  cannot  you 
lat  I  know  the  terms  on 
probably  you  are  equally 
of  your  countrymen.  I 
ir  secrets,  any  more  than 
3u  are  in  correspondence 
t  say  you?" 

itanding  and  importance, 
!  feelings  of  my  country- 
)se?" 

se ;  so  it  is  not  Independ- 
lU  be  given  up.  I  think 
ould  agree  to  contribute 
spenses  of  the  kingdom, 
tained  for  the  defence  of 

upon  that.     ETcrything 
ce."   • 


««  For  myself,"  said  Pemberton,  grasping  Andr6  warmly 
by  the  hand,  "  I  believe  I  would  at  once,  if  I  had  the 
power,  accept  such  a  proposition.  I  am,  by  education  and 
constitutionally,  so  utterly  averse  to  war,  so  conscious  that 
even  its  triumphs  contain  the  fruitful  seeds  of  other  wars, 
which  ripen  generally  in  about  a  generation.  Put  I  must 
answer  you  for  others,  not  for  myself.  I  do  not  think  that 
anything  short  of  Independence  would  be  accepted." 

•'  If  there  even  is  a  probability  of  such  a  proposition 
being  accepted,  it  might  be  offered." 

<'  I  do  not  think  there  is  at  present  the  slightest  proba- 
bility. Two  years  ago— perhaps  one  year  ago— and  it 
would  have  been  hailed  with  joy,  with  bonfires  and  accla- 
mations. But  the  keen  sword  of  war  cuts  national  bonds 
quickly.  When  a  man  has  been  fired  at  half-a-dozen 
times,  and  tried  to  shoot  another  as  often,  it  confuses  the 
natural  ties  of  relationship,"  added  F.mberton,  smiling. 

"  But  they  are  willing  to  welcome  the  French  with  open 
arms,  against  whom,  with  their  Indian  allies,  they  have 
been  fighting  at  our  sides  for  the  last  fifty  years." 

"  The  Indian  allies  are  now  with  you,  however." 

"  Not  all  of  them,  by  any  means.  Did  you  not  hear 
Lord  Cathcart  tell  how  he  was  startled  by  their  yells,  dur- 
ing his  recent  consultation  with  McLane.  But  you  do 
not  think  there  is  any  use  in  agitating  this  liberal  plan  of 

settlement?" 

"  Not  the  least.  Of  course,  if  the  Continental  arms 
should  meet  with  a  great  reverse,  it  might  be  different. 
But  at  present  things  look  tolerably  fair— and  a  French 
alliance  would  render  the  success  of  the  States  almost  cer- 
tain." 

"No,  indeed!"  exclaimed  Andr6  proudly.  "Even 
despite  a  French  alliance,  we  should  conquer.  But  I 
would  save  the  useless  spilling  of  human  blood.     For, 


X40 


rKMIlKRTON  ; 


41  ll 


ill  li 


come  what  may.  France  shall  never  acl.l  this  wide  and 

beautiful  land  to  her  erown." 

"I  agree  with  you  heartily  in  that— never !     But  we 

shall  win  our  Independence ;  and  then,  when  the  heat  and 

bitterness  of  the  contest  have  passed  by,  be  always  and 

ever  your  faithful  friend  and  ally." 

<'We  have  come  bac;k  to  where  we  started  from,  Pem- 
berton.  It  cannot  be  !  I  know  you  mean  well,  but  the 
Colonies  must  belong  either  to  France  or  to  England. 
Knowing  this,  I  shall  hope  to  urge  this  plan,  which  you 
think  it  would  be  useless  to  urge  now,  at  a  more  propitious 
season-when  some  great  turn  of  the  tide  shall  prove  to 
the  most  sanguine  among  your  leaders  the  folly  of  further 

resistance." 

«'  It  is  getting  late,  let  us  return,"  said  Pcmberton. 

And  the  young  men  walked  slowly  homeward,  saying 
little  on  the  way,  for  each  was  considering  whether  he  had 
said  what  was  wisest  in  answer  to  the  other.  And  Pem- 
berton  was  further  considering  and  wondering  how  far 
Andr6  had  authority  for  his  proposition  of  settlement,  and 
how  far  it  was  merely  the  result  of  his  own  views  as  to  the 
temper  of  the  English  Ministry. 


THE  LOXLEY  HOUSE. 


OR,    ONE    IIUNDRKD   YEARS   AOO. 


I4t 


r  add  this  wide  and 


lluit— never  !  But  wc 
en,  wlien  tlie  heat  and 
ed  by,  be  always  and 

ve  started  from,  I'em- 
ou  mean  well,  but  the 
ranee  or  to  England. 
L'  this  plan,  which  you 
w,  at  a  more  propitious 
he  tide  shall  prove  to 
icrs  the  folly  of  further 

"  said  Pcmberton. 
wly  homeward,  saying 
idering  whether  he  had 
the  other.  And  Pem- 
nd  wondering  how  far 
iition  of  settlement,  and 
'  his  own  views  as  to  the 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PLOTS    ANO    COUNrEKl'LOTS. 

Great  kings  by  humble  means  are  iel  at  naught. 
Great  fislii-s  iire  in  liny  inishcs  caught. 
Great  lakes  by  liltle  leaks  ilo  melt  away. 
Great  furluni-s  vanish  'iwixt  the  eve  and  cl.iy. 

Early  on  a  Dec  ember  morning,  two  British  officers  sat 
talking  to  each  other  in  what  was  then  called  the  Loxley 
House,  on  Second  Street,  near  Dock  creek.  One  was 
M;ijor — afterward  Colonel — 'I'arleton,  and  the  other  the 
Adjutant-Oeneral  of  the  British  army.  The  Loxley  House 
was  the  quarters  of  the  latter,  who  had  been  billeted  upon 
tlie  fiimily  of  a  Mrs.  Lydia  Darrach,  who  occupied  the 
premises. 

"  We  shall  have  rather  a  cold  march.  Major  Tarleton, 
if  the  present  weather  holds ;  but  we  intend  tliis  time  to 
make  it  a  surprise.  Not  a  man  whose  loyalty  is  the  least 
doubtful,  must  be  allowed  to  leave  the  city,  to  give'  the 
rebels  warning  of  our  approach." 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  sieve  for  letting  out  news  as  this 
place  is,"  replied  Tarleton.  "Why  even  1  can  hardly 
stir  out  with  my  troop,  but  the  rebels  seem  to  know  all 
about  it,  and  McLane  or  Harry  Lee  is  ready  to  receive 
me.     There  must  be  an  infernal  lot  of  spies  about." 

«  No  matter,"  said  his  superior,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if 
fearful  that  the  very  walls  had  ears,  "  this  time  I  think  we 
shall  be  too  many  for  them.  The  movement  was  only 
determined  upon  last  night ;  and  to-night  we  move.  I 
wish  you  in  the  interim  to  exercise  your  utmost  vigilance, 
to  prevent  word  from  being  carried  to  the  enemy.  Sir 
William  considers  you  one  of  the  most  vigilant  and  active 
officers  in  the  service." 


14* 


PEMIlERTON  ; 


I'll 


111 


I- 


«  What  num  .an  .lo  I  vill  do  ;  but  the  long  lines  of  this 
city  are  very  ditfuult  to  waUh.     1  shoukl  like  to  ( all  yuu. 
attention   to  one   thing,   however.     You  know  that  Hag 
which  nearly  always  lloats  from  I'eniberton's?" 
"  Of  course  ;  the  llag-house." 

'<  Perhaps  1  atn  rather  over-suspicious,  but  I  ronfcss  1 
do   not   understand  wl>y  the   old  nigger,  who  seems  to 
manage  that  flag,  makes  so  many  changes  in  it.     He  has, 
I  believe,  a  large  stock  on  hand ;  for  the  Pembertons 
used  to  be,  they  say,  great  shipping  menhants  ;  ami  some- 
times he  flies  a  large  one,  sometimes  smaller  ones,  some- 
times none  at  all."  .    ,.     ,  Vf 
"  Docs  there  seem  to  be  any  regularity  m  his  changes? 
"Yes;  and  that  is  why  I  have  grown  suspicious,"  re- 
joined Tarleton,  his  small  blac  k  eyes  assuming  a  puzzled 
expression.     "  Wlien  our  whole  army  is  in  the  city  he  flies 
a  small  flag;  but  the  other  day,  for  instance,  when  Corn- 
wallis  marched  out  to  take  the  forts,  he  flew  his  largest 

flag." 

"That  looks  a  little  suspicious,  I  confess,  and  it  be- 
hooves us  to  be  very  watchful.  But  Mrs.  Pemberton  can- 
not be  suspected  of  being  a  party  to  any  treachery.  Her 
sentiments  and  those  of  her  family  are  too  well  known. 
Why,  her  cousin  James  is  now  under  rebel  arrest  down  in 

Virginia." 

"  Very  true— but  her  son  Arthur  scarcely  makes  a  secret 
of  his  disloyal  principles— and,  for  myself,  I  believe  that 
were  it  not  for  the  pain  it  would  give  his  mother,  he 
would  be  this  day  in  Washington's  camp." 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  Adjutant  General,  pulling  out  a 
manuscript  book.  "  Yes,  here  is  the  name.  '  Pemberton, 
Arthur,  son  of  Rachel.  Disloyal,  but  not  to  be  dreaded  ; 
a  visionary  young  man.  Sometimes  even  writes  poetry. 
Honest  and  truthful ;  rather  timid.'    I  think  that  a  char- 


OR,    ONF.   lUINDKI'.l)    VF.ARS   Ar.O. 


143 


t  tlie  long  lines  of  this 
lunilil  like  to  .all  yum 
You  know  thiit  lliiji 
ibcrtou's?" 

icious,  but  I  ronfcss  I 
nigger,  who  seems  to 
hanges  in  it.  He  has, 
;  for  the  Pembertons 
nieriliants ;  and  sonie- 
L's  smaller  ones,  somo- 

ilarity  in  his  changes?" 
grown  suspic  ions,"  re- 
yes  assuming  a  puzzled 
iiy  is  in  the  city  he  flies 
r  instance,  when  Corn- 
"orts,  he  flew  his  largest 

,  I  confess,  and  it  be- 
nt Mrs.  Pemberton  can- 
to any  treachery.  Her 
ily  are  too  well  known, 
ier  rebel  arrest  down  in 

r  scarcely  makes  a  secret 
3r  myself,  I  believe  that 
Id  give  his  mother,  he 
s  camp." 

It  General,  pulling  out  a 
the  name.  '  Pemberton, 
,  but  not  to  be  dreaded  ; 
mes  even  writes  poetry. 
1.'     I  think  that  a  char- 


urtiT  like  this  would  not  expose  himself  to  the  dangers  of 
playing  tiie  s[)y.  Uesides,  is  he  not  a  warm  friend  of 
Cai»tain  Andre's." 

"Yes;  Andre  is  just  such  another,"  replied  Tarleton, 
with  a  little  disdain.  *'  Hut  I  do  not  think  either  of  them 
is  wanting  in  courage." 

"Can  the  negro  be  doing  anything  on  his  own  ac- 
count?" 

"  It  is  not  improbable,  though  he  seems  very  stupid." 
"  Hut  how  could  he  i)rocure  tlie  infunnation?" 
"  Oh,  that  is  not  diffuult;  every  General  and  Colonel 
almost  luus  now  a  darkey  servant,  and  they  soon  find  out 
pretty  much  all  their  masters  know  about  the  contemplated 
movements.  And  darkeys  always  like  to  air  their  know- 
ledge to  one  r.nother;  it  gives  them  consequence." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  take  any  step  that  would  prove 
impleasant  to  so  loyal  a  citizen  as  Mrs.  Pemberton  ;  why 
she  loaned  Sir  William  her  carriage  and  horses;  and,  be- 
sitles,  the  raising  of  that  very  flag  has  brought  on  her  a 
l)crfect  torrent  of  rebel  abuse  j  but  keep  your  eyes  oi)en, 
Major." 

"  Suppose  that  nigger  attempts  to  run  up  his  largest  flag 
to-day,  had  I  not  better  prevent  him  at  once?  If  that  be 
a  signal,  what  is  the  use  of  stopping  all  passes,  and  letting 
that  be  shown  ?" 

"Very  tnic ;  and  to-day  will  afford  a  pretty  good  test 
as  to  whether  there  is  any  reality  in  your  suspicions.  Sup- 
pose that  as  it  snowed  last  night,  not  a  flag  should  be 
raised  all  day,  what  would  you  think  then?" 

"  Either  that  my  suspicions  were  entirely  groundless,  or 
that  Foxey  had  no  information,"  replied  Tarleton. 

"  Biit  he  could  h.ardly  hel])  knowing  that  something  was 
going  on  by  afternoon,  if  he  has  means  of  information  at 
all."  •       ' 


.♦ 


.T'-^, 


I!! 


W 


\t    ^ 


Ml 


f/11 


,11' 

!  I    1 


144 


PEMBERTON  J 


«« That  is  true.  And  I  will  own  myself  entirely  mista- 
ken =f  no  flag  is  raised.  But  I'll  bet  a  bottle  of  brandy 
that  you'll  see  that  nigger's  very  largest  flag  waving  in  the 
wind  with.n  three  hours;  that  is,  if  one  of  my  men  was  not 
on  hand  to  prevent  it." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  Major." 

"  I  am  so  sure  of  it,  tlut  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  put  myself 
as  soon  as  possible  in  a  position  to  keep  it  down.  I  guess 
a  musket-ball  at  Foxey's  head,  will  give  him  a  speedy  hint 

not  to  raise  it." 

"  Do  not  hurt  him,"  said  the  adjutant. 

"You  cannot  hurt  a  nigger  by  shooting  him  in  the 
head,"  replied  Tarieton,  as  he  hurriedly  left  the  room. 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  in  Mrs.  Darrach's 
house,  another  conversation  upon  a  similar  subject,  was 
"being  held  at  Mrs.  Pemberton's. 

An  hour  or  so  before,  Mrs.  Darrach  had  taken  a  bag 
and  basket,  and  left  her  residence  with  the  avowed  inten- 
tion of  procuring  some  meal  and  groceries  for  that  day  s 
dinner.  Making  her  way  up  the  path  that  led  along  the 
border  of  Dock  creek,  she  had  entered  the  large  and  well- 
kept  grounds  attached  to  Mrs.  Pemberton's  mansion,  and 
walking  up  to  the  kitchen,  asked  Dinah,  the  colored  cook, 
whether  her  young  master  was  at  home. 

Dinah  was  Foxey's  better  half,  in  two  senses,  both  the 
spiritual  and  the  material,  and  one  of  those  truly  efficient 
cooks  who  were  the  wonder  of  a  former  generation,  and 
seem  to  be  the  despair  of  ours.  Dinah  knew,  if  not  con- 
sciously, then  unconsciously,  which  is  a  higher  sort  of 
knowledge— what  common  people  describe  as  "feeling  a 
thing  in  their  bones  "-that  the  Almighty  had  created  her 
to  be  a  cook.  She  felt  as  we  have  said  in  her  very  bones 
—for  she  had  bones,  though  they  were  not  perceivable— 


£,t.*-i-   S 


on; 

own  myself  entirely  mista- 

ril  bet  a  bottle  of  brandy 

y  largest  flag  waving  in  the 

s,  if  one  of  my  men  was  not 

or." 

n  in  a  hurry  to  put  myself 
n  to  keep  it  down.  I  guess 
will  give  him  a  speedy  hint 

le  adjutant. 

cr  by  shooting  him  in  the 

;  hurriedly  left  the  room. 

going  on  in  Mrs.  Darrach's 
upon  a  similar  subject,  was 

I's. 

■s.  Darrach  had  taken  a  bag 
lence  with  the  avowed  inten- 
and  groceries  for  that  day's 
1  the  path  that  led  along  the 
d  entered  the  large  and  well- 
s.  Pemberton's  mansion,  and 
Iced  Dinah,  the  colored  cook, 
IS  at  home. 

half,  in  two  senses,  both  the 
id  one  of  those  truly  efficient 
of  a  former  generation,  and 
irs.  Dinah  knew,  if  not  con- 
r,  which  is  a  higher  sort  of 
people  describe  as  "feeling  a 
the  Almighty  had  created  her 
■e  have  said  in  her  very  bones 
1  they  were  not  perceivable — 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRF.n    VKAUS    AGO. 


M5 


that  she  had  been  created  not  to  be  a  missionary,  or  a 
female  politician,  or  even  a  lady,  so  far  as  that  word  im- 
plies culture,  but  simply  what  she  was.  And  she  stood 
there  in  her  rotundity,  as  she  had  stood  in  the  same 
kitchen  for  at  least  twenty  years,  with  never  a  tliought  of 
changing  places,  a  living,  weighty  refutation  of  the  truth 
of  the  old  maxim  that  "  the  Lord  sends  victuals,  but  the 
devil  sends  cooks."  Black  and  shiny,  but  neat  and 
cleanly  in  her  attire,  with  a  gay  turban  on  her  head,  and 
evidently  constructed  on  the  same  principle  that  boys  use 
when  they  construct  snow  men — a  small  ball  on  the  top  of 
a  large  ball,  upheld  by  two  stout  upright  sticks— or  as  she 
herself  might  have  constructed  a  human  being  out  of  apple 
dumplmgs,  or  doughnuts,  or  gingerbread— Dinah  stood 
there,  before  Mrs.  Darrach,  the  very  model  cook  of  the 

period. 

"  Des,  Miss  Lyddy,  Mas'  Arthur's  to  hom'— shill  I  call 

de  missis  ?' ' 

"Oh,  no.  I  only  wish  to  see  Arthur  about  a  little 
business.     Is  he  in  the  breakfast -room  ?" 

"  Breakfas'  !  we-uns  had  breakfas'  a  hour  ago.  I  reckun 
you'll  find  him  in  de  libr'y." 

Going  to  the  library,  Mrs.  Darrach  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  was  told  to  enter.     Arthur  was  alone. 

" Why,  Friend  Darrach,  is  that  thee?"  said  Pember- 
ton,  using  his  Friendly  language.  "  Take  a  chair  by  the 
fire,  it  is  cold  this  morning." 

"Yes,  it  is  quite  cold,"  replied  she,  taking  a  seat  near 
the  fire,  and  near  him. 

' '  Is  the  snow  deep  ?— I  have  not  been  out  yet. " 

"  No,  not  very — only  some  three  or  four  inches." 

"Any  news?"  asked  he,  in  a  lower  tone,  and  with  a 
peculiar  glance. 


146 


PEMBERTON  J 


.Yes.  and  very  important,"  replied  she  in  the  same 
tone.     '<  There  is  "-'-^-^^^^f  J^rm"  Ls  returned. 

see  that  all  inquirers  for  him  were  shown  mto  the 

'^'^l  This  room  is  my  sanctum,  you  remember,"  said  he, 
ims  room  }  dead-latch,  and  no  one 

again  taking  his  seat.        It  has  a  aeau  , 

can  open  the  door  from  the  outside,  when  it  is  shut, 

°"!.t  isYes't,  thee  knows,  to  avoid  all  danger  of  suspi- 

•  „  "  s^ifl  his  visitor— "  especially  to-day. 
""T,,"h'd. hen  a  council  of  war  las.  nigh.,  as  1  .»p- 

■^Ve?\\t«  1.  was  coming-for  .  »as  warned  .0 

have  ;. -.he  family  in  bed  early.     And  I  did      ».   I  go 

■  lo  aeain,  and  putting  something  around  me,  stole  to  the 

dooToHhe  roL.     Thee  knows  the  house  .s  .n  old  one, 

and  the  doors  not  of  the  closest.  ,     *  ^ 

«tnd  you  could  hear  distinctly?"  said  Pemberton. 
forgetting  his  Friendly  language  in  his  interest. 

"  Almost  as  plain  as  I  hear  thee  now. 

"  Is  it  to  be  an  attack  in  force  ?  " 

' '  Yes,  the  whole  army. "  ^  ^ 

"When?    Could  you  hear  that?' 

"This  very  night  they  are  to  march." 

"  That  is  soon-are  you  certain  as  to  the  time  ? 

"I  am  positive."  ,, 

..  It  isr^pidwork-I  must  getword  to  the  camp  at  once. 

-  That  is  what  I  want  most  to  speak  about.     Can  thee 

^'^'iL  signal  them-but  I  must  also  .end  a  messenger. 
I  would  that  old  Abram  were  in  town,"  continued  Pem- 
berton,  musingly- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDP^U   YK.MW    AOO. 


147 


ed  she,  in  the  same 
ruption  ?" 

•  moments  returned. 
yr,  with  directions  to 
shown  into  the  front 

remember,"  said  he, 

:ad-latch,  and  no  one 

when  it  is  shut,  with- 

d  all  danger  of  suspi- 
to-day." 
last  night,  as  I  sup- 

— for  I  was  warned  to 
tnd  I  did.  But  I  got 
ound  me,  stole  to  the 
e  house  is  ivn  old  one, 

ly?"  said  Pemberton, 
his  interest. 

now." 

II 

?" 

irch." 
as  to  the  time?" 

rd  to  the  camp  at  once." 
speak  about.     Can  thee 

t  also  send  a  messenger, 
town,"  continued  Pem- 


"They  agreed  that  not  a  pass  should  be  granted  to  a 
single  man  to  leave  the  city." 

"  That  is  bad,"  replied  Arthur  in  a  puzzle.  "  My  mes- 
sengers can  get  out  without  passes,  but  it  is  a  much  longer 
route,  and  they  run  the  risk  besides  of  capture." 

"  I  have  a  plan,"  said  his  visitor,  while  a  gentle  radiance 
lit  up  her  pale  but  e-.pressive  face. 
««Ah!  what  is  it?" 
"I  will  go." 
"You,  Lydia?" 

"  Yes,  to  save  life,  the  lives  of  my  countrymen,  perhaps 
the  life  of  my  country;  I  will  go." 
«'How?" 

"As  thee  knows,  there  is  very  little  flour  in  the  city, 
and  most  of  what  we  get  comes  from  Frankford.  I  went 
there  about  a  month  ago  for  flour,  and  I  will  go  again  to- 
day, if  I  can  C't  a  pass." 

"  But  it  is  CO,  and  snow  on  the  ground.  And  a  walk 
of  ten  miles,  i  way  with  a  sack  of  flour,  is  a  great 

task  for  one  s    .as  you  are." 

"  It  is  no  harder  than  walking  barefoot  over  the  frozen 
ground,  as  so  many  of  our  poor  soldiers  are  doing.  Not 
one-tenth  as  hard  as  dying  with  camp-fever  or  small-pox 
in  the  hospitals,  as  so  many  poor  prisoners  are  doing.  If 
I  could  save  one  man's  life  I  would  do  it.  I  may  save 
hundreds  of  lives,  and  the  life  of  my  country,  too." 

"You  have  always  refused  to  take  any  reward  hereto- 
fore, Lydia.  This  news  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  You 
are  poor,  and  it  is  only  right  the  country  should  compen- 
sate you."  ,  , 

"  Not  a  farthing,  not  a  single  farthing !"  exclaimed  she 
with  great  earnestness.  "  It  would  seem  to  me  like  the 
price  of  blood.  Only  one  thing,"  and  the  pale  face  was 
suffused  with  crimson,  "  it  is  a  weakness,  but  we  all  have 


* 


X48 


PEMBERTON ; 


MM^ 


m 


'1  li'UP" 

'111  ii 
mm 

i|iii 


our  little  weaknesses,  I  suppose ;  if  I  should  succeed  m  my 
efraiKl  and  the  army  should  be  forewarned,  let  VVashmg- 
ton  know  that  this  was  the  work  of  a  woman,  of  one  who 
honored  and  revered  him.  and  loved  her  struggling  coun- 
try,  and  that  her  name  was  Lydia  Darrach. 

"He  shall  know  it!  And  the  country,  at  some  safe 
future  time  shall  know  it!"  exclaimed  Pemberton  w.th 
cnLsilsm  "  And  your  name  shall  be  held  in  reverence 
Ty  our  "^idren,  and'our  chUdren's  children,  to  the  latest 

^^"fSlfh;:  am  I  to  get  the  pass.'  said  his  visitor, 
relapsing  into  her  usual  quiet  and  thoughtful  manner 
'.They  may  refuse  to  give  me  one.  and  it  is  important  not 

'^'.Ttii^k■I  can  arrange  that,"  replied  Pemberton,  re- 
flecting for  a  moment ;  "  come  with  me. 

Leaving  the  room  he  went  forward  to  the  door  of  the 
back  parlor,  and  saw  that  Isabella  was  there  reading.  - . 

"miss  Ckham."  said  he,  "  Mrs.  Lydia  Darrach  whom 
I  think  you  have  met  before"-Isabella  bowed-  is 
anxious  to  obtain  a  pass  to  go  to  Frankford  to  purchase 
some  flour  for  her  family.  I  told  her  I  thought  you  would 
be  able  to  get  her  one  from  General  Howe.  The  Adju- 
tant General,  you  know,  boards  with  her,  and  therefore, 
you  see.  it  is  rather  important,"  continued  Pemberton, 

smiling. 

-I  do  not  care  much  for  the  Adjutant  General  s  din- 
ner," replied  Isabella,  -soldiers,  of  course,  can  rough  it, 
but  I  do  fee),  Mrs.  Darrach,  for  you  and  the  children. 
And  yet.  I  confess  it.  i  do  not  like  much  the  idea  of  going 
around  to  headquarters  for  a  pass.  Perhaps  if  I  gave  Mr 
Darrach  a  note  to  Colonel  Musgrave,  he  could  get  her 

r    °""  That  would  not  do,  Bella."  said  Arthur,  a  little  im- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


140 


[  should  succeed  in  my 
ewarncd,  let  VVashing- 
a  woman,  of  one  who 
:d  her  struggling  coun- 
)arrach. 

country,  at  some  safe 
limed  Pemberton  with 
lU  be  held  in  reverence 
i  children,  to  the  latest 

iss?"    said  his  visitor, 

id  thoughtful  manner. 

and  it  is  important  not 

replied  Pemberton,  re- 
h  me." 

vard  to  the  door  of  the 
was  there  reading, 
i.  Lydia  Darrach,  whom 
-Isabella  bowed— "is 
3  Frankford  to  purchase 
her  I  thought  you  would 
eral  Howe.  The  Adju- 
Nith  her,  and  therefore, 
'  continued  Pemberton, 

Adjutant  General's  din- 
of  course,  can  rough  it, 
•  you  and  the  children, 
e  much  the  idea  of  going 
Perhaps  if  I  gave  Mrs. 
;grave,  he  could  get  her 

said  Arthur,  a  little  im- 


patiently.    "  I  should  be  ver^  much  obliged  to  you,  if 
you  would  put  on  your  cloak  and  go  at  once." 

Isabella  looked  at  him  in  surprise.     There  was  no  mis- 
take—curious as  it  seemed  to  her,  he  was  evidently  very 

much  in  earnest.  .         ,, 

She  hesitated  not  a  moment  longer.     ' '  Wait  a  mmute, 
said  she  to  Mrs.  Darrach. 

While  she  wa.s  gone,  Pemberton  instnicted  Mrs.  Dar- 
rach as  to  whom  she  might  safely  apply  in  Frankford. 
"At  Friend  Evans's— Joshua  Evans,  you  know,  the  tan- 
ner's—you will  probably  find  either  Captain  McLane, 
Lieutenant  Morris,  or  Colonel  Meigs,  one  of  whom  doubt- 
less will  be  there  in  the  course  of  the  day.  If  Joshua 
should  happen  to  be  out,  go  to  his  brother  Samuel's." 

riefe  Isabella  appeared,  equipped  for  walking ;  and  the 
two  left  for  the  headquarters  of  General  Howe  in  Market 

Street.  u      •     u 

Arrived  at  the  dignified  mansion— one  of  the  best  m  the 
city— which  the  British  commander  had  appropriated  for 
his  own  use,  and  passing  the  sentry  at  the  door,  they  en- 
tered. One  of  the  lower  rooms  was  occupied  as  an  office 
for  the  granting  of  passes  and  other  official  matters,  and 
opening  the  door  of  this,  Isabella  perceived  Sir  William 
himself,  while  his  Aid  and  Secretary,  Captain  Munchau- 
sen, sat  at  a  desk  before  the  window. 

Sir  William  arose  in  a  moment.  He  was  a  tall,  hand- 
some, dignified-looking  man-bearing  considerable  per- 
sonal resemblance,  as  was  often  noted,  to  Washmgton  ;  a 
genial,  kindly  man,  greatly  beloved  both  by  his  officers 
and  men.  An  admirable  general,  moreover,  when  in  the 
field— though  failing  perhaps  in  pushing  his  enemy's  de- 
feats into  routs-but  too  much  given  to  taking  his  ease 
when  the  battle  -as  over.  Some  of  his  own  officers 
averred  that  Philadelphia  was  his  Capua;   ai.d   Doctor 


•  ilWll 


,-Q  PEMBERTON ; 

Franklin  said  that  instead  of  his  taking  Philadelphia,  that 

city  had  taken  General  Howe.  ^  »*;.= 

Rising,  as  we  have  said.  Sir  William  addressed  Miss 

"""YThappyto  see  you,  Miss  Graham.    Be  seated, 
ladies-whatcanldoforyouthissnowymormng? 

..liTwiUiam."  said  Isabella.  "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of 

^°"<'which  you  know  will  be  granted  if  I  can  possibly  do 
it  •'  replied  the  General  gallantly.  "  To  oblige  so  fair  a 
lady  is  in  itself  a  pleasure-and  when  that  lady  is  he 
ward  of  Colonel  Musgrave.  who  did  us  such  admirable 
service  at  Germantown.  the  pleasure  becomes  almost  a 

**""  I  know  you  would  oblige  me,  if  you  possibly  could, 
had  I  something  important  to  ask  of  you,"  replied  sa- 
bella,  smiling  pleasantly.  "But  this  is  nothmg-it  ,s 
mere  y  to  give  my  Quaker  friend  here.  M...  Darrach  who 
keeps  the  house  where  your  Adjutant  boards,  a  pass  to  go 
toF^ankford.  to  buy  a  little  flour  to  make  his  pies  and 

'"'Sfa  irifle,  of  course,"  said  the  General,  a  little 
confosed ;  "  but  the  fact  is,  my  dear  Miss  Graham,  we  are 
not  issuing  any  passes  at  all  to-day.' 

Isabella's  manner  instantly  grew  colder.  I  suppose 
thrgh.  like  other  army  orders,  it  is  liable  to  exceptions, 
Ind  fo  bl  overruled  at  the  pleasure  of  the  commanding 

^'"Til;  "l  have  directed  in  the  orders  of  the  day,  Miss 
Graham,  that  not  a  pass  shall  be  issued  to  a  single  man- 
does  Tot  th6  order  read  in  those,  words.  Captajn  Mun- 
eh::sen1-and  you  must  admit  it  would  hardly  look  well 
for  me  to  be  the  first  to  break  my  own  orders. 

nTw  this  would  have  had  lo  be  enough  for  a  man,  but 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


151 


Ling  Philadelphia,  that 

illiara  addressed  Miss 

Graham.    Be  seated, 
snowy  morning?" 
I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of 

:ed  if  I  can  possibly  do 
*«To  oblige  so  fair  a 
when  that  lady  is  the 
did  us  such  admirable 
sure  becomes  almost  a 

,  if  you  possibly  could, 
ik  of  you,"  replied  Isa- 
t  this  is  nothing— it  is 
here,  Mrs.  Darrach,  who 
ant  boards,  a  pass  to  go 
ir  to  make  his  pies  and 

aid  the  General,  a  little 
ear  Miss  Graham,  we  are 

ew  colder.  "  I  suppose 
t  is  liable  to  exceptions, 
lire  of  the  commanding 

orders  of  the  day.  Miss 
issued  to  a  single  man— 

jse  words.  Captain  Mun- 

it  would  hardly  look  well 

y  own  orders." 

be  enough  for  a  man,  but 


a  woman,  and  moreover  a  young  and  beautiful  woman,  is 
a  very  different  person  to  deal  with.  Isabella  was  a  very 
sensible  as  well  as  beautiful  woman ;  but  she  had  a  beauti- 
ful woman's  wilfulness  and  dislike  to  being  foiled  in  anything 
she  undertook.  She  would  not  have  stirred  from  home 
on  an  errand  like  this,  except  at  her  lover's  earnest  request, 
but  having  done  so,  she  would  not  easily  take  a  refusal. 
And  she  had  already  had  an  advantage,  in  that  Sir  Wil- 
liam had  complimented  her.  Although  a  veteran,  he  had 
not  yet  fully  realized  the  bad  policy  of  complimenting  a 
lady  who  wants  a  favor  Of  you.  It  is  like  giving  the  enemy 
in  a  battle  the  choice  of  ground ;  and  Sir  William  had  the 
sun  in  his  eyes  all  through  the  remainder  of  the  interview, 
and  Isabella  knew  it. 

Captain  Munchausen,  at  the  desk,  tumbled  over  some 
papers,  and  then  perusing  one,  made  answer : 
'•Those  are  the  very  words,  your  Excellency." 
"  I  see  nothing  in  that  order  to  prevent  my  having  a 
pass  for  Mrs.  Darrach,"  said  Isabella  coolly.     ''  It  says, 
'  not  to  a  single  man,'  and  that  may  be,  for  all  I  know, 
reasonable  enough ;  but  Mrs.  Darrach  is  a  woman." 
The'^jltoeral  smiled. 

"  Yware  a  keen  reasoner.  Miss  Graham,  but  do  you  not 
see  that  women  are  supposed  to  be  included  in  the  pro- 
hibition?" 

^''And  children  then,  too,  I  suppose  ?  No,  I  see  nothing . 
of  tiie  kind.  And  a  pass  to  Mrs.  Darrach  will  be  both  for 
a  woman  and  her  children,  who  cannot  have  bread  to  eat 
if  they  cannot  get  flour.  But  if  the  safety  of  the  city,  and 
of  \he  British  army  and  its  General,  is  to  be  endangered  in 
some  way  by  giving  a  pass  to  Mrs.  Darrach,  of  course  she 
must  submit,"  and  Isabella  laughed  a  very  pretty,  but  still 
slightly  ironical  laugh. 

Now  we  suppose  it  is  only  human  nature,  but  it  is  a  little 


i5» 


pemherton; 


m 


curious  to  a.  philosophical  mind,  to  sec  with  what  d.shke 
a  gentleman  even  in  high  authority,  will  run  counter  to 
the  wishes  of  a  lady  who  stands  high  in  the  circles  in  which 
he  himself  moves.  Sir  William  evidently  felt  embarrassed 
The  color  of  the  good  wine  he  was  so  fond  of  deepened 
upon  his  face,  and  turning  to  his  secretary,  he  said : 

"Perhaps  it  would  not  be  a  very  serious  infraction  of 
orders,  Munchausen,  to  give  Miss  Graham  the  pass  for  her 
friend.  We  all  know  that  the  '  Friends,'  to  their  honor, 
are  nearly  universally  loyal." 

.'  We  are  all  opposed  to  war  and  the  shedding  of  blood, 
replied  Mrs.  Darrach. 

.'Yes,  I  know,"  said  Sir  William;  "and  to  the  rebels, 

because  they  made  the  war." 

Lydia  said  nothing.  She  did  not  feel  bound  to  contra- 
dict the  General's  assumption. 

The  secretary,  who  had  taken  up  his  pen  at  once,  in 
answer  to  his  General's  suggestion,  handed  the  pass  to 
Isal)ella,  who  perused  it,  and  finding  it  all  correct,  gave  it 

to  Mrs.  Darrach. 

And  she,  saying  she  had  but  scant '  .e  as  it  was,  imme- 
diately left  on  her  patriotic  expeditio 

-lam  very  much  obliged  to  you,  .r  William,  sad 
Isabella,  in  a  tone  that  also  seemed  to  say,  and  I  would 
have  been  still  more  obliged  if  you  had  granted  the  favor 

at  once.  _    ,  tr      ^ ^«, 

"You  are  very  welcome,  Miss  Graham.  You  know 
that  we  soldiers  are  sometimes  compelled  by  a  sense  o 
duty  to  refuse  what  it  otherwise  would  be  our  greatest 

^^'TknowThaTall  men  are  very  perverse  and  troublesome 
beings,"  replied  Isabella,  with  something  still  left  of  the 
tone  of  offended  bellehood. 
The  General  thought  he  had  better  change  the  subject. 


'***. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YKAKS   AGO. 


153 


o  sec  with  what  dislike 
ty,  will  run  counter  to 
h  in  the  circles  in  which 
idcntly  felt  embarrassed. 
IS  so  fond  of  deepened 
;ecretary,  he  said : 
ivy  serious  infraction  of 
Graham  the  pass  for  her 
'riends,'  to  their  honor, 

the  shedding  of  blood," 


im;  "and  to  the  rebels, 


not  feel  bound  to  contra- 

up  his  pen  at  once,  in 
ion,  handed  the  pass  to 
ling  it  all  correct,  gave  it 

;ant '     le  as  it  was,  imme- 

ditio 

>  you,    -T  William,"  said 

aied  to  say,  and  I  would 

ou  had  granted  the  favor 

iss  Graham.     You  know 

compelled  by  a  sense  of 

je  would  be  our  greatest 

f  perverse  and  troublesome 
something  still  left  of  the 

better  change  the  subject. 


(Wancing  to  his  secretary,  "Are  you  acquainted  with 
Captain  Munchausen,  Miss  Graham ?  I  took  it  for  granted 
you  were  acquainted.  Captain  Munchausen,  Miss  Gra- 
ham." 

The  Captain  rose  and  bowed  deeply.  The  lady  bowed, 
but  not  very  deeply. 

«'Cai)tain  Munchausen  assists,  I  suppose,  in  writing 
your  dispatches;  your  accounts  of  your  victories,  and 
things  of  that  kind,"  said  Isabella  with  apparent  inno- 
cence. 

Some  of  the  wits  among  the  rebels  had  said  the  same 
thing — though  not  very  innocently — but  Sir  William  had 
never  had  it  said  before  to  his  very  face.  Again  the  claret 
deepened  on  his  cheeks ;  but  the  lady  looked  as  serene  and 
smiling  as  possible. 

"  Yes,  the  Captain  generally  copies  them  out  for  me. 
He  is  my  secretary,  you  know." 

"  I  thought  I  occasionally  recognized  the  touches  of  his 
pen,"  rejoined  Isabella,  smiling  very  benignantly  upon 
both  of  them. 

"  All  I  do,  Miss  Graham,  I  assure  you,  is  simply  to 
transcribe;  or  else  to  write  out  what  Sir  William  dictates," 
replied  the  Captain  with  frank  sincerity. 

"  Ah,  you  are  too  modest  by  half.  Captain.  Is  he  not, 
Sir  William?  But  I  detain  you,  no  doubt,  from  your  im- 
portant duties.  Good-morning,  General ;  good-morning, 
Captain  Munchausen,"  — and  Isabella,  with  her  usual 
graceful  dignity,  left  the  office,  being  accompanied  by  the 
Captain  to  the  front  door. 

"That's  a  d d  unfortunate  name  you  have,  Cap- 
tain," cried  Sir  William,  as  gruffly  as  he  was  ever  in  the 
habit  of  speaking  to  his  officers,  when  Munchausen  re- 
entered the  room.  ' 

"  I  am  ready,  Sir  William,  at  any  moment,  to  relieve 


154 


PEMBFRTON 


you  of  the  unpleasantness  of  it."  replied  the  Captain,  with 
Kcntlcmanly  dignity. 

-Pshaw,  my  boy,  don't  get  offended.  I'll  keep  you 
in  spite  of  all  the  wits,  of  both  sexes,  in  the  universe.  IJut 
just  see  how  unreasonable  these  pretty  women  are.  Be- 
cause  I  did  not,  at  once,  and  without  co.is.deration,  do 
as  that  magnifKent  Miss  Graham  wished,  she  would  not 
entirely  forgive  me.  I  warrant  she'll  let  me  feel  that  I 
have  displeased  her,  every  time  she  meets  me  m  society 
for  the  next  month." 

The  Captain  laughed.  It  was  not  entirely  respectful, 
but  he  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  If  she  were  not  so  splendid  a  woman,"  continued  his 
chief—"  some  say  that  she  and  her  sister  are  the  two  very 
finest  women  in  Philadelphia— I  should  not  care.  But  I 
really  like  the  girl— in  a  fatherly  way,  of  course— a.nd  old 
Musgrave,  her  guardian,  is  one  of  my  best  officers." 

Here  the  entrance  of  half-a-dozen  colonels  interrupted 
Sir  William's  commentary  on  what  had  passed. 


bt 


la 


UBNBKAL   Howe's  HUAUyUAUliiKS. 


ai 


01 


f^ 


* 

.^*, 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


155 


,'d  the  Captain,  with 

led.  I'll  keep  you 
i\  the  universe.  15ut 
:y  women  are.  Be- 
it consideration,  do 
shed,  she  would  not 
let  me  feel  that  I 
neets  me  in  society 

entirely  respectful, 

nan,"  continued  his 
ster  are  the  two  very 
lid  not  care.  But  I 
,  of  course — and  old 
'  best  officers." 
colonels  interrupted 
ad  passed. 


CHA1>TER  XIV. 

PARTING. 

After  Isaoella  left  the  house  with  Mrs.  Darrach,  Pem- 
berton  had  sought  out  old  Foxey. 

"Any  flag  flying  to-day,  Foxey?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Massa  Arth — no  flag  to-day.  Snow  heavy  dis 
las'  night,  you  know,"  with  a  grin. 

"  You  must  not  fyrget  what  I  said  the  other  day,"  con- 
tinued Arthur,  in  a  low  tone.  "It  would  be  foolish  to 
fly  a  big  flag  when  there  are  no  soldiers  in  the  city.  Now 
I  have  an  idea  that  the  whole  of  them,  pretty  much,  will 
be  marching  out  of  town  some  time  to-day,  and  of  course 
it  would  be  ridiculous  to  hoist  any  flag."  * 

"  Werry  dick'lous,  Mas'  Arth — Old  Foxey  not  gwine  to 
spile  his  flags  by  gittin'  them  snow'd  on — no,  no,  hi  1  hi ! 
hi!" 

Having  done  the  best  he  could,  Pembcrton  sat  down  to 
await  the  return  of  Miss  Graham.  In  about  half-an-hour 
she  came  back,  her  face  all  glowing  with  excitement  and 
success ;  and,  finding  Pemberton  in  the  parlor,  she  gave 
him  an  account  of  her  mission. 

"It  was  lucky  you  were  about,  Bella,"  said  he.  "I 
would  not  have  failed  in  getting  that  pass,"  he  continued 
in  a  whisper,  "  for  a  thousand  pounds." 

"  Then  what  are  you  going  to  give  me?"  asked  Isabella 
archly. 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  jestingly,  as  if  to  take 
out  his  purse  j  but  she  laughed  and  blushed,  and  said — 
"Oh,  you  stupid  man  !" 

In  an  instant  his  arm  was  around  her  waist,  his  lips 
pressed  to  hers.  "  My  own  sweet,  precious  love  !"  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  low  but  passionate  tone,  still  enfolding  her 


i  I, 


Ih  <*iir' 


156 


rF.MnF.RTON ; 


queenly,  yielding  form;  "  only  my  country  in  her  jxiril 
can  rival  you  in  my  heart." 

"  Arthur— my  prince,  my  king,  my  country,  my  all !" 
she  nuirmured. 

Suddenly  she  started  from  him.  It  was  nothing  bui  a 
noise  in  the  street— but  she  resumed  her  seat  at  a  more 
detorous  distance. 

"  1  did  not  want  to  be  under  any  obligations  to  Sir  Wil- 
liam Howe,"  said  she  smiling. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  indeed  it  coulil  not  be  helped,  Bella," 
replied  I'einberton. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  right.  He  refused  my  request  at  first — 
and  so  I  left  him  under  a  sense  of  obligation  to  me,  in- 
stead of  the  obligation  being  the  other  way.  I  could  not 
have  managed  the  matter  better  had  I  planned  it  all  from 
the  beginning." 

"That  is  curious,"  said  Pemberton,  his  man's  wit  at 
fault ;  and  it  rcciuired  a  detailed  account  of  the  whole  con- 
versation, to  show  him  how  it  was  possible  for  a  lady  to 
accept  a  favor,  and  yet  leave  the  burden  of  obligation 
resting  upon  the  broad  shoulders  of  the  poor  masculine 
who  had,  in  one  sense,  conferred  it. 

The  day  rolled  on.  Mrs.  Darrach,  after  trudging  five 
miles  through  the  snow,  reached  Frankfon"  safely,  saw 
Colonel  Craig  (who  had  been  sent  by  Washington  e.- 
•  pressly  to  pick  up  information),  and  trudged  back  again 
with  her  sack  of  flour,  feeling  that  she  had  done  a  life's 
work  in  that  one  day. 

Major  Tarleton's  sentries,  stationed  in  the  garret  of  a 
neighboring  dwelling,  and  armed  with  muskets,  had  kept 
a  strict  watch  over  Foxey's  doings,  but  had  seen  no  traces 
of  any  suspicious  movements.  As  Tarleton  himself  rode 
in  from  the  outposts,  about  4  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  he 


'l^m^r^ 


OR,    ONF,    lUTNnRF.n    VF.ARS    AOO. 


»S7 


ountry  in  her  peril 

y  country,  my  all !" 

;t  was  nothing  bm  iv 
i  her  scat  at  a  more 

bligations  to  Sir  Wil- 

ot  be  helped,  Bella," 

my  request  at  first — 
obligation  to  me,  in- 
ter way.     I  could  not 
I  planned  it  all  from 

on,  his  man's  wit  at 
lunt  of  the  whole  con- 
possible  for  a  lady  to 
burden  of  obligation 
»f  the  poor  masculine 


■h,  after  trudging  five 
Frankfort'  safely,  saw 
It  by  Washington  e.:- 
d  trudged  back  again 
she  had  done  a  life's 

led  in  the  garret  of  a 
nth  muskets,  had  kept 
but  had  seen  no  traces 
Tarleton  himself  rode 
;k  in  the  afternoon,  he 


saw  Foxcy  standing  very  unsuspic  iously  in  front  of  the 

Peinlx-rtoii  mansion,  talking  with  one  of  his  sable  brethren. 

St()|)ping   his   horse,  and   gl.uu  iiig   up  at   the   Ihig-st.iff, 

Tarleton  said — 

"Why,  Koxey,  you  are  not  flying  any  fl;ig  to-day?" 
"No,  no,  Massa  Captin— -Foxey  no  fly  de  fl.ig  in  de 

snow — spile  de  ni(e  flags,  MassiCaptin." 

As  Tarleton  roile  on,  he  heard  I'oxey  say  to  the  other 

negro — 

"  I  s'pDse  you  go  to-night,  Sam,  wid  all  de  rest  of  de 

sogers,  hi  !  hi !  hi  !" 

"  Foxey  evidently  knows  of  the  movement,  and  yet  his 
fl;ig_even  the  smallest  one— is  not  flying,"  tluuiglu 
Tarleton.  "  I  must  be  getting  too  suspicious.  1  would 
have  bet  fifty  pounds  to  one,  that  either  Foxey  or  his 
master,  or  both,  were  playing  traitor." 

Shortly  after  Tarleton  had  passed.  Captain  Andr* 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  inquired  for  the  lulies.  Colo- 
nel Musgrave  had  already  been  there,  and  taken  an  affec- 
tionate parting  from  his  wards — for  who  could  tell  whether 
all  who  shoulil  leave  the  city  that  night,  would  return? 
With  sad  faces  the  two  ladies  entered  the  parlor  into  which 
Andr6  had  been  shown,  for  the  parting  with  their  much- 
loved  guardian  had  deeply  affected  them. 

"  I  came  to  bid  you  good-bye  for  a  day  or  two,"  said 
Andr6,  with  forced  gayety.  "We  start  to-night,  to  pay 
General  Washington  a  visit.  We  design  it  for  a  kind  of 
surprise  party,  you  know." 

But  his  listeners  looked  more  like  crying  than  laughing. 
"  Oh,  that  this  awful  war  were  over ! "  said  Isabella,  with 
a  deep  sigh. 

"None  can  wish  that  more  heartily  than  T  do,"  res- 
ponded Andr^.  "  But  T  see  no  other  means  of  stopping 
it,  than  just  this  kind  of  one  we  are  now  pursuing.     One 


•III', 


tl  1 


iiHI; 


ill'l' 


I  Jm' 


158 


TEMBERTON  ; 


K 


good  beating,  and  the  colonists,  I  think,  would  be  ready 
to  treat  for  peace." 

"  Good-bye,  Captain,"  said  Isabella,  rising,  and  holding 
out  her  hand,  which  Andrd- pressed  warmly  within  his  own 
—"I  shall  pray  God  daily  and  nightly  for  your  safe  re- 
turn.    And  do  be  prudent,  for  the  sake  of  those  that  love 

you." 

"Good-bye,  my  dear  Miss  Graham;  and  I  know  if 
prayers  can  aught  avail  me,  I  shall  return  safely  from  this 
conflict.  Remember  me  to  Mr.  Pemberton  and  his  mo- 
ther, please.  I  do  not  care  to  have  too  many  of  these 
partings — they  take  the  soldier  out  of  a  man's  heart." 

Isabella  left  the  room,  discreetly  closing  the  door  be- 
hind her,  and  Andr6  reseated  himself  by  Helen's  side. 
So  far  she  had  said  nothing ;  but  now  she  flung  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  repeatedly,  saying,  be- 
tween h6r  kisses  and  her  sobbings, 

"  Oh,  John,  I  can  hardly  bear  it !  I  cannot  risk  so 
soon  the  losing  you  !  " 

He  comforted  her  as  many  another  soldier  had  done  in 
similar  case  before— and  has  done  since— with  embraces, 
with  kisses,  with  honeyed  words,  with  loving  misrepresen- 
tations of  the  extent  of  the  danger,  with  loving  assurances 
of  his  faith  that  he  should  return  unscathed— all  those 
things  which  the  sincerest  man  will  say  in  such  an  hour, 
to  the  woman  he  dearly  loves. 

At  last  she  grew  more  calm,  and  he  ventured  to  say : 

" I  cannot  linger,  Helen;  I  have  many  duties  yet  to 
perform.  Remember  that  you  are  the  daughter  of  a 
soldier— and  are  to  be  a  soldier's  wife." 

The  crimson  flush  spread  to  her  fair  forehead  at  that 
last  word,  but  it  seemed  to  fill  her  veins  with  a  more  ex- 
alted life. 

"Forgive  me  this  weakness,  sweet!     The  news  came 


hink,  would  be  ready 

lla,  rising,  and  holding 
(varmly  within  his  own 
jhtly  for  your  safe  re- 
sake  of  those  that  love 

iham;  and  I  know  if 
return  safely  from  this 
mberton  and  his  mo- 
ve too  many  of  these 
of  a  man's  heart." 
\f  closing  the  door  be- 
iself  by  Helen's  side, 
ow  she  flung  her  arms 
repeatedly,  saying,  be- 
lt !     I  cannot  risk  so 

ler  soldier  had  done  in 
since — with  embraces, 

ith  loving  misrepresen- 
with  loving  assurances 

I  unscathed — all  those 

II  say  in  such  an  hour, 

he  ventured  to  say : 
ve  many  duties  yet  to 
ire  the   daughter  of  a 
vife." 

r  fair  forehead  at  that 
•  veins  with  a  more  ex- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AOO. 


159 


upon  me  so  suddenly  to-day.  But  I  am  a  soldier's  daugh- 
ter— and  I  am  strong  enough  to  be  a  soldier's  wife." 

So  saying,  she  sat  up  erect,  and  wiped  the  tears  from 
her  cheeks,  and  looked  as  her  father  may  have  looked 
perhaps,  when  he  gazed  right  into  the  eyes  of  battle. 

"  Now,  indeed,  you  are  my  own  Helen,  my  proud  one, 
my  queen  !  "  exclaimed  her  lover.  "One  kiss  before  I 
go.  Remember,  in  life  or  in  death,  I  am  yours — yours 
only  !  " 

"  Yes,  in  life  or  in  death,  always  mine,  as  I  am  always 
yours — always  !  always  !  " 

They  flung  their  arms  around  one  another  for  a  last  em- 
brace. They  pressed  theirwarm,  palpitating  lips  together. 
They  clung  heart  to  heart.  Then  Andre  tore  himself  from 
the  arms  of  his  mistress,  opened  the  door,  and  left  the 
house. 

She  sprang  to  the  window,  caught  and  returned  one 
last  loving  glance,  and  flinging  herself  down  upon  the 
sofa,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 


veet!     The  news  came 


I  JtAlt 


i6o 


PEMBERTON } 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    DARING    RAID. 

Rash  is  no  word  for  such  a  reckless  youth  I 
_  And  were  it  not  the  goJdcss  Fortune  loves 

Those  who  trust  all  to  her,  and  guards  them  well. 
His  body  and  soul  had  long  since  broken  troth. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  leaving  a  small  garrison 
in  Philadelphia,  the  British  army  marched  out  to  surprise 
Washington  in  his  fortified  camp  at  Whitemarsh.     Bu 
their  coming  was  fully  expected.     Captam  McLane  me 
t'.eir  advance  about  three  miles  from  the  city   and  retired 
before  it,  disputing  the  passage  at  every  available  spot. 

For  three  days  Sir  William  Howe  tried  to  find  an  open- 
ing where  he  could  successfully  make  an  attack-first  on 
the  right,  then  on  the  left.  But  Washington  would  neither 
show  a  good  opening,  nor  advance  himself  into  the  field. 
He  evidently  deemed  it  his  policy  not  to  fight,  unless  at  a 
great  advantage.     It  was  the  old  Roman  story  over  again : 

'♦  If  you  are  the  able  general  you  claim  to  be,     said 
Howe,   "come  out  from  your  intrenchments  and  fight 

tne."  ,     ,, 

"  And  if  you  are  the  able  general  you  claim  to  be,    re- 
plied Washington,  "make  me  come  out  and  fi-ht  you." 

After  various  ineffectual  attempts  to  do  the  latter,  Gen- 
eral Howe  ingloriously  marched  back  to  Philadelphia, 
taking  with  him  forty  wagon-loads  of  wounded  men,  and 
a  considerable  number  of  cattle.  His  army,  not  in  the 
best  of  humors,  burned  and  pillaged  to  no  small  extent— 
especially  on  the  road  the  Hessians  travelled— as  they 
marched.  Of  course,  without  orders,  as  so  many  things 
of  the  kind  get  done  iu  war,  and  which  makes  of  war  even 
a  more  cruel  and  horrible  thing  than  it  necessarily  must 

be.  T^  .  ^^ 

It  was  evening  before  the  rear  of  the  British  army 


.m- 


1 


OR,   ONE  HUl'iDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


s6i 


youth  I 

;  loves 

ds  them  well, 

okcii  troth. 

ving  a  small  garrison 
irched  out  to  surprise 
It  Whitemarsh.     But 
Captain  McLane  met 
1  the  city,  and  retired 
'ery  available  spot, 
tried  to  find  an  open- 
ic  an  attack — first  on 
liington  would  neither 
himself  into  the  field, 
lot  to  fighc,  unless  at  a 
iman  story  over  again : 
ou  claim  to  be,"  said 
renchments  and  fight 

I  you  claim  to  be,"  re- 
!  out  and  fi'ht  you." 
J  to  do  the  latter,  Gen- 
back  to   Philadelphia, 
of  wounded  men,  and 
His  army,  not  in  the 
:d  to  no  small  extent — 
ans  travelled— as  they 
lers,  as  so  many  things 
'hich  makes  of  war  even 
han  it  necessarily  must 

ir  of  the  British  army 


reached  the  city.  The  larger  portion  resumed  their  old 
encampments  on  the  northern  outskirts  of  the  town  ;  but 
others,  including  of  course  the  principal  officers  and  their 
staP.s,  marched  into  the  heart  of  the  city. 

The  citizens  generally  came  out  to  their  doors  as  they 
passed,  and  Mr.  Pemberton,  with  the  Misses  Graham,  imi- 
tated the  general  example.  All  felt  gay  and  joyful,  either 
at  the  failure  of  the  British  movement,  or  at  the  safe  re- 
turn of  their  friends,  or  for  both  reasons.  Colonel  Mus- 
grave  had  passed,  well  splashed  with  mud,  but  looking  as 
active  as  ever,  and  had  pulled  up  to  speak  a  word  of  greet- 
ing to  his  wards.  And  then  Andre,  in  like  plight,  but 
with  his  brown  face  and  eyes  glowing  handsomer  than  ever 
in  the  light  which  shone  from  the  windows,  also  had  halted 
to  accost  the  young  ladies,  and  to  exchange  a  loving  glance 
with  Helen. 

The  ladies  still  lingered  at  the  door,  although  thinking 
that  all  the  military  which  were  coming  that  way  had 
passed,  when  another  body  of  horsemen  were  seen  trotting 
down  the  street.  There  seemef"  to  be  about  twenty  or 
thirty  dragoons,  for  they  were  equipped  like  Tarleton's 
men,  and  in  the  rear  three  or  four  led  saddled  but  unrid- 
den  horses. 

"  I  thought  at  first  that  was  Tarleton,"  said  Pemberton ; 
"  but  it  is  not  he.  I  believe  I  do  not  know  them,  though 
there  is  something  familiar  in  the  appearance  of  that  second 
rider." 

As  he  spoke,  the  rider  in  question  left  the  ranks,  and 
spurring  up  to  the  side  of  the  street — and  even  inside  the 
posts  which  then  marked  the  line,  instead  of  curbs — tossed 
a  rose  to  the  party  in  the  porch,  saying,  very  plainly, 
"  With  my  best  compliments  to  Miss  Helen." 

"Who  is  that,  Helen?"  asked  her  sisfer.  eagerly,  as 
Pemberton  stooped  and  picked  up  the  rose,  evidently 


!  I5i 


i 

i'l 


l62 


PEMBERTON  J 


Ill' 


It 


plucked  from  some  green-house,  or  other  sheltered  nook, 
for  it  was  too  late  for  out-door  roses. 

Helen's  face  grew  white.  "I  am  not  certam,  said 
she      "  But  I  fear—"  here  she  paused. 

'■'It  cannot  be,"  replied  Pemberton,  in  a  low  voice; 
♦'it  would  be  madness."  . 

-What  are  you  two  whispering  about?"  inquired  Isa- 

^'< 'it  is  cruel  in  him  !"  exclaimed  Helen.     "  He  has  no 
rieht  to  put  me  to  such?  -est."  . 

'  <  Whit  do  you  both  mean?"  again  asked  Isabella  in  a 
low  but  earnest  voice,  as  Pemberton  left  them,  and  darted 
after  the  troopers,  down  the  street. 

«  Sis  "  said  Helen  in  a  whisper,  giving  a  cautious  glance 
around' her,  to  see  that  she  was  not  in  danger  of  being 
overheard,  "  it  was  Lieutenant  Morns  !  .       ^  „  , 

'♦He  k^ows  I  will  not  betray  him,"  continued  Helen, 
excitedly,  when  they  were  seated  again  in  the  parlor; 
♦♦  but  he  has  no  right  to  put  me  to  such  a  cruel  test 

"Probably  you  are  mistaken,^  Helen.  It  may  have 
really  been  some  English  officer." 

'<  What  one  is  there,  presumptuous  enough  to  fling  me  a 
rose  thus  publicly?"  said  Helen.  "None  but  a  rebel 
would  venture  to  do  so-.specially  on  so  short  an  acquaint- 

'"''oh,  he  is  but  a  mere  boy,"  replied  Isabella,  "and 
probably  a  little  demented,  since  his  wound,     ^o  y°u  no 
think  so?    I  see  him  now,  kissing  your  hand  the  other 
dav" — and  she  laughed.  . 

-Bella,  I  think  you  speak  rather  unkindly,  considering 
that  Mr.  Morris,  if  he  is  but  a  mere  boy,  did  us  such  a 
Irelt  service,"  exclaimed  Helen,  with  flashing  eyes. 
?^nd,  for  my  part,  I  saw  nothing  the  least  ridiculous  in 
what  he  did  at  Mr.  Livezey's.     He  felt    embarrassed. 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


163    ^ 


ither  sheltered  nook, 

I  not  certain,"  said 

d. 

:ton,  in  a  low  voice ; 

ibout?"  inquired  Isa- 

Helen.     "  He  has  no 

n  asked  Isabella,  in  a 
left  them,  and  darted 

iving  a  cautious  glance 
)t  in  danger  of  being 

rib! 

n,"  continued  Helen, 
again  in  the  parlor ; 
luch  a  cruel  test." 
Helen.     It  may  have 

as  enough  to  fling  me  a 

"None  but  a  rebel 

an  so  short  an  acquaint- 

replied  Isabella,  "and 
is  wound.  Do  you  not 
g  your  hand  the  other 

r  unkindly,  considering 
lere  boy,  did  us  such  a 
n,  with  flashing  eyes. 
;  the  least  ridiculous  in 
He  felt   embarrassed, 


doubtless,  and  it  was  rather  awkward  all  round— but  re- 
member he  thinks  that  I  saved  his  life." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is  a  very  fine  young  fel- 
low," rejoined  her  sister,  not  very  consistently,  but  very 
sagaciously;  "and  I  only  wish  that  Arthur  would  come 
back,  and  let  us  know  what  it  all  means.  Perhaps  he  has 
been  converted,  repented  of  his  sins,  and  turned  Tory." 

"  I  wish  he  may  get  safely  out  of  the  city— without 
doing  any  mischief,"  said  Helen. 

After  waiting  with  only  a  moderate  degree  of  patience 
for  about  two  hours,  Pemberton  returned. 

"  Was  it  he?  "  cried  Helen. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean?"  said  Isabella. 

"  Did  he  get  off  safely?  "  added  Helen. 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  about  it? — do  speak,  Arthur!" 
exclaimed  Isabella. 

Arthur  behaved  as  most  men  do,  when  met  by  a  volley 
of  excited  questions — took  his  time  to  answer  them.  It 
is  a  failing  which  few,  even  of  the  noblest  and  best  of 
their  sex,  are  superior  to.     Adam  doubtless  thus  plagued 

Eve. 

"  Ladies,  if  you  will  allow  me  just  one  moment  in  which 
to  breathe,  and  collect  my  scattered  thoughts,  I  will  an- 
swer all  your  questions  seriatim^ 

They  waited,  not  patiently,  but  expectantly. 

"  It  was  he.  It  all  means  mischief.  He  did  get  off 
safely.  And  I  did  hear  something  about  it.  Any  more 
questions?" 

Helen  raised  her  hand  to  box  his  ears.  Isabella  posed 
her  graceful  form  before  him — 

"Mr.  Arthur  Pemberton,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
tell  us  what  we  want  to  know,  without  further  delay,  cir- 
cumlocution, or  needless  aggravation?" 

Pemberton  smiled.     "  It  was  McLane  and  a  party  of 


i?'  'i 


■  * 


n 


164 


PEMBERTON  ', 


u 


his  men,  disguised  as  British  troopers.     They  came  in  on 
the  rear  of  the  British.     When  they  pa.ssed  here,  tliey  con- 
tinued  on   down   Cliestnut   to   Second  —  turning   down 
Second.     The  Adjutant-General  had  just  dismounted  and 
entered  his  house  with  his  papers  before  they  came  up. 
Good  luck  for  him.     On  Second  Street  bridge  they  over- 
took Captain  Sandford  on  horseback,  and  carried  him  off 
with  them.     They  then  turned  up  Walnut  Street,  and  on 
the  bridge  there,  captured  Varnum,  one  of  Cunningham's 
jail-keepers.     Going  out  Walnut  Street  they  just  missed 
Sir   William   Howe   and   several   colonels.      They   then 
pushed  out  to  the  Ridge  Road,  dashed  boldly  past  the 
block  house,  where  the  guards,  seeing  their  uniforms,  sup- 
posed it  was  all  right,  and  so  on,  I  infer,  to  the  wilds  of 
the  Wissahickon.      Tarleton  will  probably  know  about 
that — for  he  is  after  them  in  hot  indignation.     But  as 
they  have  full  fifteen  minutes  start,  I  guess,  as  our  Yankee 
friends  say,  he  will  only  see  the  tails  of  their  horses." 

"  I  hope  he  catches  them,"  exclaimed  Helen,  "  It  was 
a  great  piece  of  impertinence.  And  I  wish  you  would  in- 
form Mr.  Morris  the  next  time  you  have  a  chance,  that  I 
consider  his  conduct  very  audacious.  He  ought  to  know 
that  I  am  loyal  to  the  heart's  core,  and  have  no  sympathy 
with  rebels." 

"  I  think  myself  it  was  a  very  silly  piece  of  business  to 
fling  you  that  rose,"  said  Pemberton,  pointing  to  the  rose, 
which  was  a  very  pretty  one— half  blown  and  a  deep  red 
—and  which  Helen  had  placed,  perhaps  unconsciously,  in 
her  bosom. 

"  I  do  not  see  anything  particularly  silly  in  it,"  replied 
Helen.     "  I  think  it  was  audacious  and  reckless." 

"  Helen  is  very  hard  to  please  where  Lieutenant  Morris 
is  concerned,"  said  Isabella,  a  little  slyly. 

"Bella,  you  know  better.     I  think  Mr.  Morris  very 


ii 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


i6S 


They  came  in  on 
assed  here,  they  con- 
iid  —  turning   down 
just  dismounted  and 
;fore  they  came  up. 
let  bridge  they  ovcr- 
and  carried  him  off 
ahiut  Street,  and  on 
)ne  of  Cunningliam's 
eet  they  just  missed 
lonels.      They   then 
ihed  boldly  past  the 
g  their  uniforms,  sup- 
infer,  to  the  wilds  of 
robably  know  about 
indignation.     But  as 
guess,  as  our  Yankee 
of  their  horses." 
med  Helen.     "It was 
[  I  wish  you  would  in- 
have  a  chance,  that  I 
He  ought  to  know 
Lnd  have  no  sympathy 

y  piece  of  business  to 
1,  pointing  to  the  rose, 
blown  and  a  deep  red 
haps  unconsciously,  in 

rly  silly  in  it,"  replied 

and  reckless." 

lere  Lieutenant  Morris 

J  slyly. 

link  Mr.  Morris  very 


much  to  blame  indeed— very  reckless  and  audacious— but 
I  do  not  like  to  hear  one  who  has  done  me,  and  all  of  us, 
so  much  service,  ridiculed  and  called  silly." 

<'I  said  his  action  was  silly— not  himself,"  rejoined 
Pemberton. 

"It  is  the  same  thing,"  replied  Helen,  as  she  left  the 
room,  not  caring  apparently  to  have  the  matter  discussed 

further. 

When  she  came  to  disrobe  in  her  chamber  that  even- 
ing, she  opened  a  little  casket  in  which  she  kept,  under 
lock  and  key,  her  most  precious  souvenirs  of  love  and' 
friendship,  and  put  Philip's  rose  among  them. 

Was  Helen  rather  inconsistent?  You  may  think  so— 
but  it  is  because  you  do  not  look  upon  her  from  the  right 
.  point  of  view.  Her  actions  and  words  might  appear  in- 
consistent with  each  other,  but  they  were  not  inconsistent 
with  herself.  For  she  who  acts  and  speaks  naturally 
and  impulsively,  must,  perforce,  upon  a  subtle  cord  of 
harmony,  as  on  a  fine  gold  thread,  string  all  her  apparent 
inconsistencies  of  word  and  action. 


1 66 


PEMnERTON  ; 


I 
I 

I' 

! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HAIL   TO   THE   CHIEF. 

Oh  I  a  Soulier's  lifu  for  me, 
Willi  its  strife  iiiiil  its  jullity— 

A  liamnict  to-night. 

To-morrow  a  fight, 
And  the  shouts  of  victory. 

The  Philadelphia  of  the  olden  time  was  never  more  gay 
than  during  the  winter  and  spring  of  the  British  occupa- 
tion.    Whether  because  it  was  useless  to  undertake  great 
movements  in  the  field,  on  account  of  the  severe  cold  of 
the  winter  and  the  deep  mud  of  the  spring,  or  ownig  to 
the  natural  love  of  ease  and  pleasure  of  the  BrU.sh  com- 
mander, his  officers  had  full  time  and  liberty  allowed  them 
to  amuse  themselves  in  all  those  ways  which  come  natural 
to  the  youthful  and  pleasure-seeking  mind.     Theatricals, 
balls  and  parties,  with  less  innocent  gaming,  revelhng, 
and  other  dissipations,  were  their  constant  occupations; 
and  they  went  at  them  with  the  same  amount  of  energy 
a»d  spirit  which  they  would  have  thrown  into  a  campaign. 
Although  many  ladies  belonging  to  the  prominent  Whig 
families  had  left  the  city,  a  large  number  remained,  and 
those  among   the  wealthiest  and  most  refined  classes  of 
society     Unless  the  traditions  and  testimonies  taat  have 
come  down  to  us   are  to  be  entirely  disbelieved,  these 
ladies  constituted  the  most  brilliant  circle  in  the  country. 
They  prided  themselves  not  m  much  on  their  beauty— 
though,  if  we  may  credit  the  French  officers,  they  were 
the  most  beautiful  women  in  America-as  on  their  spright- 
bness  and  their  conversational  ability.     The  ladies  of  New 
York,  they  alleged,  had  invariably  to  call  in  the  aid  of 
cards  to  entertain  their  visitors;  but  they  depended  upon 


w 


OR,    ONE    UUNPRF.n    YF.AKS    Af.O. 


167 


iiiDrL-  intellectual  means  of  amusing  and  delighting  their 


I. 

EF. 
lly- 


le  was  never  more  gay 
)f  the  British  occupa- 
ss  to  undertake  great 

of  the  severe  cold  of 
;  spring,  or  owing  to 
e  of  the  British  com- 
1  liberty  allowed  them 
ys  which  come  natural 
y  mind.  Theatricals, 
nt  gaming,  revelling, 
constant  occupations; 
ime  amount  of  energy 
rown  into  a  campaign. 
)  the  prominent  Whig 
lumber  remained,  and 
nost  refined  classes  of 

testimonies  that  have 
rely  disbelieved,  these 
;  circle  in  the  country, 
iich  on  their  beauty — 
ich  officers,  they  were 
ca — as  on  their  spright- 
ly. The  ladies  of  New 
y  to  call  in  the  aid  of 
ut  they  depended  upon 


Thus  in  a  constant  round  of  amusement  and  gaycty,  the 
B.titish  oflicers  passed  their  time,  until  it  was  announced, 
in  the  spring,  that  Sir  William  Howe  was  to  be  superseded 
by  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  It  might  be  that  this  implied  a 
reproof  of  their  winter's  idleness;  but,  whether  it  did  or 
not,  they  loved  their  commander,  they  had  hud  a  glorious 
time,  and  they  resolved  to  top  off  their  sport  \  'ith  a  dis- 
play of  the  grandest  and  most  appropriate  charai  ter. 

So  they  determined  upon  the  Mischianza — a  m-dley,  as 
the  Italian  signifies— in  honor  of  their  departin^^  Chief, 
and  worthy  of  him,  the  ladies  and  themselves. 

Captain  Andr6  and  the  Misses  Graham  had  taker,  their 
full  share  in  the  sea.son's  festivities ;  and  as  he  sat  with 
them  one  pleasant  evening  in  May,  explaining  the  com- 
pleteness and  novelty  of  the  intended  i)ageant,  Isabella 
turned  to  him  and  inquired,  in  an  amused  voice ; 

"  And  which  are  you  to  be,  Andr6,  a  Knight  of  the 
Blended  Rose,  or  of  the  Burning  Mountain?" 

"  I  have  been  chosen  as  a  Knight  of  the  Blended  Rose," 
replied  Andr6,  with  assumed  dignity. 

"  And  your  brother,  the  Lieutenant  ?  " 

"Oh,  he  is  to  be  my  Squire." 

"And  your  lady?  " 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  here  to  ask,"  said  he,  turning 
to  Helen. 

"What  are  your  ladies   to  wear?"    inquired  Helen, 

archly. 

Pemberton,  who  had  just  come  in,  and  stood  listening, 
laughed  outright.  .    ' 

"  Isn't  that  a  woman  all  over?  '  Will  you  marry  me? ' 
said  the  gentleman.     '  What  kind  of  a  wedding-dress  can 


■  'iJ! 


m 


iiii 

in  i 


.1   • 


II 
liijiii 


■M\'i 


|gg  PEMnKRTON ; 

I  wear?'  said  the  lady.  '  1  will  not  be  married  at  all,  if 
the  color  does  not  suit  my  complexion.'  " 

"A  very  sensible  woman,  I  think,"  commented  Helen. 
"  My  ca.se,  exactly.  What  are  your  ladies  to  wear,  Cap- 
tain Andre?  " 

"I'll  read  it  to  you— it's  all  set  down,"  said  Andr6, 
pulling  a  paper  front  his  pocket — 

"'THE   LAUIES   OF   THE    BLENDED  ROSE. 

"  '  A  polonaise,  or  flowing  robe  of  white  silk,  with  a 
spangled  pink  sa.sh,  and  spangled  shoes  and  stockings ;  a 
veil  spangled  and  trimmed  with  silver  lace,  and  a  tower- 
ing headdress  of  pearls  and  jewels.'  " 

"I  hate  spangles,"  said  Helen,  "  they  make  one  look 
like  a  circus-wornan.  I  hate  a  towering  headdress,  it  makes 
my  head  ache.  Get  one  of  the  Misses  Shippen,  that  one 
who  doats  on  you." 

"All  engaged,"  replied  Andre,  smiling. 

"  You  should  have  spoken  sooner  then.  Well,  there  is 
pretty  Miss  Redman  ;  she  will  have  you  as  her  knight,  or 

all  signs  fail."  ,, 

"  Captain  Horneck  has  secured  her  sweet  ladyship. 
"Well,    there    is   Peggy  Chew;    have   you  tried   her 

also?" 

Andr6  laughed. 

"  You  know.  Miss  Helen,  that  I  have  not  tried,  as  you 
call  it,  anybody.  In  fact,  such  was  my  presumption,  that 
I  confidently  counted  upon  you." 

"You  were  very  presumptuous  indeed.  Spangles,  and 
a  towering  head-dress  !  No,  no,  I  shall  not  make  a  bar- 
barian of  myself,  even  if  the  Mischianza  has  to  be  given 

"That  is  foolish,  Helen,"  interposed  Isabella;  "what 
serious  objection  can  you  possibly  have  to  the  costume  ? 


)t  be  married  at  all,  if 
ion.'  •• 

L,"  commented  Helen, 
ar  ladies  to  wear,  Cap- 

it  down,"  said  Andr6, 


ILENDED  ROSE. 

:;  of  white  silk,  with  a 
ihoes  and  stockings;  a 
ilver  lace,  and  a  tower- 

,  "  they  make  one  look 
.■ring  headdress,  it  makes 
lisses  Shippen,  that  one 

smiling. 

ler  then.  Well,  there  is 
,re  you  as  her  knight,  or 

her  sweet  ladyship." 
v;   have   you  tried   her 


I  have  not  tried,  as  you 
/as  my  presumption,  that 

,  indeed.     Spangles,  and 

I  shall  not  make  a  bar- 

schianza  has  to  be  given 

erposcd  Isabella;  "what 
bly  have  to  the  costume  ? 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   VEAKS   Ar,0.  1 69 

I  think  it  will  be  very  pretty.     Do  you  know  what  the  rival 
ladies  are  to  wear,  Andre?" 

'•The  same,  I  believe,  except  that  their  white  polonaises 
are  to  be  bound  with  black,  and  their  s;ishes  are  to  be 
black  instead  of  pink." 

"  Horrible  !"  exclaimed  Helen  ;  "  I  would  not  be  one 
of  their  Knights  for  the  world." 

"  Well,  what  am  I  to  do?"  said  Andre,  ruefully. 

"  Eipiip  yourself  as  the  Knight  of  the  Sorrowful  Coun- 
tenance.and  go  without  adame,"  replied  Isabella,  laughing. 

'•And,  Helen,  you  are  in  earnest,  you  do  not  really 
wish  to  be  one  of  the  Queens  of  the  F^c?"  said  Andrd 
earnestly. 

"1  do  not,  John." 

"  Who  then  shall  I  choose  ?" 

"The  very  prettiest  girl  you  can  fmd.  I  shall  not  be 
jealous,"  she  added,  in  a  whisper. 

"  You  suggested  Peggy  Chew  ;  shall  it  be  she  ?" 

•'  Yes,  a  pretty  girl,  and  nice  too.     If  she  will  accept. ' 

"Of  course,"  said  Andr6. 

"Of  course  she  will,  and  be  glad  of  it,"  said  Helen, 

confidently.  . 

"  Do  not  make  Captain  Andr6  anymore  conceited  than 

he  is,"  cried  Isabella. 

Andr6  smiled.     "I  did  not  ask  you.  Miss   Isabella. 
You  are  jealous.     Will  not  you  be  my  beautiful  queen  of 

hearts?"  ^      ,    •    •» , 

"  Not  at  this  late  hour ;  after,  how  many  refusals  is  it  ? 

No,  I  am  engaged  to  go  among  the  undistinguished  crowd 

We  shall  be  there,  and  see  how  you  conduct  yourself, 

Knight  of  the  Burning  Rose." 

"Awful!     Blended  Rose,  not  Burning  Rose.     Burning 

Mountain  !"  exclaimed  Andr6,  holding  up  both  hands  in 

affected  dismay. 


^ 


-11 


^  pemdkrton; 

..  Go  and  engage  Peggy  Chew  at  once,  or  she  will  be 
8napi,ed  up  also  by  so.ne  other  unfortunate  Kaught.  sa.d 
Helen.  

..Why  would  you  not  serve  as  Andre's  lady?"  xsked 
Isabella,  after  they  had  retired  that  evemng. 

"  What '  and  set  the  whole  town  to  talking  ?  I  hey  talk 
enough  about  Captain  An<lr6  an<l  myself  as  .t  .s.  -et 
hL  tait  on  Peggy  Chew  on  such  a  great  o.-..s.on  .s  tins, 
and  it  will  close  their  lips  for  the  next  month  or  two 

..  Ycu  are  a  very  wise  little  girl,  ....  .  ad  your  wdfulness 
sister  mine."  sai<l  Bella,  kissing  her.  arjd  fold.ng  her  arms 
around  her.     "  Sweet,  how  I  love  you!  ,, 

..  Bella,  my  darling,  my  precious.  I  would  c  '^  io   V^" 

exclaimed  Helen,  returning  her  embrace.         11  ese  men 

are  goTng  different  paths,  and  we  must  go  w.th  thenj^  but 

Tey  shall  never  part  these  hearts  of  ours,  shall  they.  Bella. 

my  beautiful,  my  queenly  one?"  p  ,;    ^„  Prln- 

..  Never,  never,  never,  my  beloved,  my  Pen.  my  Prm 

cesst"   cried  Bella,  returning  her  passionate  kisses  am 

embmces.     "  Come  what  may  come,  their  principles  an 

duties  and  ambitions  shall  never  separate  these  sister  hearts 

"'Zll  they  lay  down  to  sleep  folded  in  each  other's  arms. 


i,„i 


OR,  ONE  UUNUKKU   YEARS  AGO. 


171 


once,  or  she  will  l>e 
tiinatc  Kaiight,"  suid 


indrc'slady?"  asked 
veiling. 

•  talking?  Tlicyt.ilk 
iiyself  iis  it  is.  I^et 
^reat  occasion  as  this, 
xt  month  or  two." 
..lail  your  wilfulness, 
and  folding  her  arms 

ml" 

I  would  die  for  you!" 
ibrace.  ' '  These  men 
mst  go  with  them,  but 
ours,  shall  they,  Bella, 

2d,  my  Peri,  my  Prin- 

passionate  kisses  and 

e,  their  principles  and 

)arate  these  sister  hearts 

;d  in  each  other's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE     MIHCHIANZA. 

Bright  was  the  iicciie  when  to  tho  mu^li  ([.ly 
Of  trump  luul  iyml).>l    wept  ih.;  llccl  away  i 
I)„wn  Uchi-are'n  pr.,ud  breast  the  gorReuUS  «hoW, 
While  cai.i.„i>  Ihi.i.clereil,  m"ve,l  suhlime  aii.l  .low  J 
Flags  (lew.  men  »h.)Ule(l,  nn.l  ihc  la.lle«  sniilcd, 
And  with  gay  .unl-eann  glad  wave*  wantoned  wild. 

0.1  for  a  pen  made  from  a  peacock's  plume,  whose  green 
and  golden  glories  might  gleam  before  my  eyes,  and  .laz.lc 
all  my  brain,  the  while  I  paint  in  too  brief  phrase  the 
splendors  of  the  Mischianza ! 

For  the  Mischian/a  was  undoubtedly,  and  beyond  all 
compare,  the  fmest  .uul  most  artistic  entertainment  m  the 
way  of  a  festivity,  that  ever  delighted  the  eyes  of  beautiful 
women  an.l  brave  men  in  this  prosaic  American  world 

Philadelphia  has  had,  Boston  and  New  York  and  Balti- 
more and  all  our  sister  cities  have  ha.l  entertamments   m 
which  it  was  sought  to  embody  praise  and  honor  of  distin- 
guished men-great  generals,   great  statesmen,  great  ar- 
tists.     But  what  have  they  all  amounted  to?-a  feed  ,  or, 
at  best,  a  feed  and  a  dance ;  at  which  wretched  and  vulgar 
taste  competed  with  wretched  and  vulgar  ostentation  and 
profusion  for  the  mastery.     But  the  Mischianza  was  the 
conception  of  a  nobly-gifted  and  cultivated  soul-one  not 
too  old  to  lament  that  the  days  of  chivalry  were  passed, 
and  which  was  filled  with  the  high-bred  refinement  of  a 
true  cavalier.     And  in  all  its  principal  features  was  seen 
the  glowing,  sportive  mind,  as  in  the  chief  adornments 
the  ready,  artistic  hand  of  John  Andr6. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  fatigue  our  readers  with  a 
full  description  of  this  pagjant.    That  work  is  already 


*!■ 


"jl 


Hr 


III 


(iti 


I  y  -.  PEMBERTON  J 

done.     But  we  cannot  well  avoid  a  few  brief  words  of  out- 
line. 

The  Mischianza  commenced  with  a  regatta.  The  British 
flee,  lay  in  a  long  line  the  whole  length  of  the  city,  decked 
with  gay  flags,  while  the  vessels  of  war  thundered  at  ap- 
propriate occasions.  The  flotilla  was  composed  of  three 
galleys,  and  thirty  large  flat  boats,  the  latter  covered  with 
green  cloth,  and  filled  with  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
the  city,  the  invited  guests.  The  galleys  were  reserved 
for  the  principal  Generals  and  their  suites,  accompanied 
by  the  most  distinguished  ladies. 

Starting  about  four  in  the  afternoon  from  the  northern 
end  of  the  city,  the  festive  squadron  floated  slowly  down, 
the  rowers  keeping  time  to  the  music,  until  it  reached  the 
southern  limit,  just  below  the  Old  Fort.  The  houses  along 
the  river,  the  wharves,  and  the  line  of  transports  in  the 
stream,  were  crowded  with  admiring  spectators. 

Arrived  at  the  Old  Fort,  opposite  the  then  handsome 
Wharton  mansion,  the  gay  company  landed,  and  forming 
themselves  into  a  procession,  marched  up  through  lines  of 
grenadiers  and  horsemen,  to  the  grassy  square  prepared  for 
the  tournament-  Here  were  two  triumphal  arches,  with 
pavilions ;  and  under  the  pavilions  ranges  of  rising  seats. 
The  company  then  took  their  places— the  ladies  of  the 
Knights  of  the  Blended  Rose  and  of  the  Burning  Moun- 
tain occupying  the  front  seats  in  each  pavilion. 

To  the  sound  of  distant  trumpets  rode  in  two  bands  of 
Knights— one  dressed  in  ancient  habits  of  white  and  red 
silk,  on  gray  horses;  the  other  in  black  and  orange,  their 
horses  jet  black.  The  first  were  the  White  Knights  of  the 
Blended  Rose ;  the  others  the  Black  Knights  of  the  Burn- 
ing Mountain. 

The  customary  challenges  interchanged— the  subject  of 
dispute  being  the  superior  "  wit,  beauty  and  accomplish- 


t 


m ' 


in; 

I  a  few  brief  words  of  out- 

ith  a  regatta.  The  British 
length  of  the  city,  decked 
of  war  thundered  at  ap- 
a  was  composed  of  three 
;s,  the  latter  covered  with 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
he  galleys  were  reserved 
heir  suites,  accompanied 

;rnoon  from  the  northern 
Iron  floated  slowly  down, 
lusic,  until  it  reached  the 
I  Fort.  The  houses  along 
line  of  transports  in  the 
ring  spectators, 
osite  the  then  handsome 
)any  landed,  and  forming 
jched  up  through  lines  of 
grassy  square  prepared  for 
ro  triumphal  arches,  with 
)ns  ranges  of  rising  seats, 
places — the  ladies  of  the 
id  of  the  Burning  Moun- 

each  pavilion. 
)ets  rode  in  two  bands  of 
t  habits  of  white  and  red 
in  black  and  orange,  their 

the  White  Knights  of  the 
lack  Knights  of  the  Burn- 

erchanged— the  subject  of 
t,  beauty  and  accomplish- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


173 


ments"  of  their  respective  bands  of  ladies — the  Knights, 
riding  around  the  lists,  made  their  obeisance  to  their 
Dames.  Then,  after  receiving  their  shields  and  lances 
from  their  respective  Squires,  they  encountered  in  full 
career  their  line  of  adversaries,  and  shivered  their  spears. 
In  a  second  and  third  encountei  they  discharged  their 
pistols ;  and,  in  a  fourth,  fought  with  their  clashing  swords. 

At  length,  the  two  chiefs — Lord  Cathcart  and  Captain 
Watson  of  the  Guards — spurring  forward  in  the  centre,  en- 
gaged furiously  in  single  combat — until  the  Marshal  of  the 
Field,  rushing  between  them  in  the  name  of  the  Ladies, 
declared  that  the  Fair  Damsels  of  both  bands  were  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  these  proofs  of  the  devotion  of  their 
respective  Knights,  and  commanded  them  to  desist  from 
further  combat. 

Then  the  Knights  dismounted,  and,  with  their  respective 
Ladies  by  their  sides,  headed  the  procession  of  the  whole 
company,  as  they  passed  under  the  triumphal  arches,  and  be- 
tween lines  of  troops,  brilliant  with  gay  colors  and  stream- 
ing flags,  into  the  garden  of  the  Mansion.  Thence, 
ascending  a  flight  of  steps,  they  came  into  a  spacious  hall, 
with  its  panels  painted  in  imitation  of  Sienna  marble. 
Here  they  were  served  with  refreshments. 

From  this  apartment,  after  a  little  while,  they  passed  up 
to  a  ball-room,  with  four  drawing-rooms,  and  all  painted 
in  pale-blue  and  rose-pink.  Eighty-five  mirrors  and  a 
large  number  of  wax-lights  here  lent  enchantment  to  the 
scene. 

The  dances — the  stately  minuet  and  the  cheerful  contra- 
dance,  for  the  quadrille  and  waltz  h?d  not  yet  come  in — 
continued  until  ten  o'clock,  when  the  doors  and  windows 
were  thrown  open,  and  a  magnificent  display  of  fireworks 
diversified  the  entc-tainment,  bouquets  of  rockets,  burst- 
ing balloons.  Chines  °  fountains,  arches  illuminated  with 

15* 


% 


m 


J-  .  ■*■ 


--> 


174 


PEMBERTON  } 


rainbow-colored  flames,  and  Fame  «P-"f  ^.^^JI^^^^I^;- 
and  blowing  from  her  trumpet  the  words  of  light,  Tes 
Lauriers  sont  Iinmortels. 

At  twelve,  large  folding  doors,  hitherto  artfully  con- 
cealed, were  suddenly  flung  wide,  and  a  magnificent  saloon 
two  hundred  feet  long,  and  twenty  in  height,  and  adorned 
with  fifty  large  pier-glasses,  disclosed  to  view      A  burs  of 
surprise  and  admiration  broke  forth  f-.-.^^e  assembled 
cuests      All  was  so  new,  so  fresh  and  artistic,  nothing  old 
Sid  stale  and  common-place.     Here  were  the  supper-ta- 
bles lighted  by  innumerable  wax-lights  and  lustres,  and 
laden  lith   all   the  delicacies   that   could  be  procured. 
Twenty-four  black  slaves,  in  Oriental  dresses,  with  silver 
collars  and  bracelets,  ranged  in  two  lines,  stood  with 
bowed  heads  as  General  Howe  and  his  brother,  the  Admi- 
ral, led  the  brilliant  company  into  the  saloon. 

Supper  over,  the  guests  began  to  depart;  though  the 
dancfng  was  kept  up  until  four  o'clock  in  the  morning^ 

Nought  occurred  to  interrupt  the  festivities      An  attack 
Planned  by  Caotain  McLane  upon  the  British  line  of  de- 
fences and  which  was  answered  by  alarm  guns  from  nver 
o    Wer   was  represented  by  ^^e  officers  to  be  on^  a  por 
tinn  nf  the  evening's  entertainment.     And  so  the  dance 
':ent^o    ull    on.  'it  was  a  fete  of  f.tes.     And  though 
Toml  miy  censure  the  spirit  that  can  thus  -d-lg-n  ^^^ 
and  festivity  in  the  midst  of  war,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  indulgence  of  strong  feeling  in  any  one  direction, 
nauraly  induces  a  corresponding  indulgence  after  a  time 
"n  the  direction  immediately  opposite.     It  is  ^e  effort  of 
nature  to  maintain  the  healthy  balance  and  equilibrium  o 
"he  mind,  in  other  words,  to  preserve  its  sanity.     This 
one^  ea  good  of  amusements  and  festivities  m  the  usual 
lef  of  peace,  and  much  less  can  they  be  dispensed  with 
n  war!  unless  you  mean  to  allow  the  necessary  and  per- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


175 


spangled  with  stars, 
words  of  light,  Tes 

litherlo  artfully  con- 
a  magnificent  saloon, 
L  height,  and  adorned 
i  to  view.     A  burst  of 
1  from  the  assembled 
i  artistic,  nothing  old 
e  were  the  supper-ta- 
jhts  and  lustres,  and 
'  could  be  procured, 
al  dresses,  with  silver 
wo  lines,  stood  with 
his  brother,  the  Admi- 
he  saloon. 

0  depart;  though  the 
)ck  in  the  morning, 
festivities.     An  attack 
the  British  line  of  de- 
alarm  guns  from  river 
icers  to  be  only  a  por- 
,t.     And  so  the  dance 
if  f^tes.     And  though 
,  thus  indulge  in  gayety 
t  must  be  remembered 
g  in  any  one  direction, 
indulgence  after  a  time 
site.     It  is  the  effort  of 
mce  and  equilibrium  of 
;rve  its  sanity.     This  is 
d  festivities  in  the  usual 

1  they  be  dispensed  with 
the  necessary  and  per- 


haps righteous  indignation  against  the  enemy,  to  sink  into 
a  bitter  rancour,  which  shall  find  vent  in  acts  of  unneces- 
sary cruelty  and  vindictiveness,  unworthy  of  a  Christian 
people,  m  any  cause  however  just,  and  toward  any  foe 
however  barbarous. 


176 


PEMBERTON  J 


'ill; 


llir 


lljif 


'li.' 


III' 
iiiiii 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AN    UNINVITED    GUEST. 

He  was  enamored.    Ere  he  touched  her  hand 
His  senses  reeled  within  him,  as  when  first 
Columbus,  gazing,  sighted  a  new  world. 
She  was  his  Indies,  his  America, 
His  missing  continent,  for  want  of  which 

His  sphere  imperfect  was,  and  lacked  the  sense 
Of  fullness  and  completeness. 

We  need  hardly  say  that  both  the  Misses  Graham  were 
delighted  participants  in  the  festivities  of  the  Mischianza. 
Pemberton  escorted  them.  Devoted  Whig  as  he  was,  he 
prided  himself  upon  being  neither  a  fanatic  nor  a  bigot. 
He  could  oppose  the  success  of  the  British  arms  with  all 
his  might,  and  yet  not  have  an  unkind  feeling  personally 
toward  a  single  British  officer.  So  far  as  he  knew  them 
to  be,  like  Colonel  Musgrave,  Andr^.and  riwiy  others, 
noble  and  generous  men,  just  as  sincere  in  their  political 
views  as  he  was  in  his,  he  admired  and  respected  them. 

As  to  Sir  William  Howe,  had  it  not  been  for  his  keep- 
ing Captain  Cunningham  in  his  position  of  Provost,  he 
would  have  thought  very  highly  of  him.     By  his  own  offi- 
cers and  men  he  was  evidently  sincerely  beloved,  and  this 
was  greatly  in  his  favor.    Pemberton  also  was  sorry  to  hear 
of  his  removal  as  Commander-in-Chief.     He  felt  a  little 
as  Hamilton  afterwards  did,  when  Washington  communi- 
cated to  him  a  plan  to  capture  Sir  Henry  Clinton.     "I 
am  opposed  to  it,"  said  Hamilton.     "We  know  exactly 
what  Sir  Henry  is,  and  what  he  will  be  likely  to  do.     We 
mig'.it  easily  have  a  worse  man — for  us— in  his  place." 
Aiid  the  plan  was  given  up. 

Sir  William's  inactivity  through  the  winter  certainly  was 
not  calculated  to  make  any  far-seeing  friend  of  the  Colo- 


mi 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AOO. 


177 


FEST. 

ler  hand 
ri  first 
Id. 

lich 

1  the  sense 

Misses  Graham  were 
s  of  the  Mischianza. 
,  Whig  as  he  was,  he 

fanatic  nor  a  bigot. 
British  arms  with  all 
id  feeling  personally 
far  as  he  knew  them 
•6,. and  ruc^iiy  others, 
;ere  in  their  political 
id  respected  them, 
ot  been  for  his  keep- 
)sition  of  Provost,  he 
im.     By  his  own  offi- 
ely  beloved,  and  this 
also  was  sorry  to  hear 
lief.     He  felt  a  little 
Washington  commmii- 

Henry  Clinton.     "I 
"We  know  exactly 

be  likely  to  do.     We 
)r  us — in  his  place." 

he  winter  certainly  was 
ig  friend  of  the  Colo- 


nial cause  anxious  to  have  another  and,  it  might  be,  more 
active  man,  put  in  his  place.  The  new  broom  might 
sweep  cleaner. 

So  Pemberton  attended  the  Mischianza,  and  enjoyed  it 
as  much  as  a  person  with  his  artistic  perceptions  and  love 
of  the  beautiful  would  naturally  do.  Such  a  sight,  en- 
livened by  such  crowds  of  gayly-dressed  officers  and  beau- 
tiful women,  surely  never  had  been  seen  in  America. 

Andr6  was  engaged  the  greater  part  of  the  time  with 
his  chosen  lady  for  the  occasion.  Miss  Chew ;  and  the  two 
soon  became  the  centre  of  a  gay  and  brilliant  circle.  The 
Misses  Graham  and  Pemberton  were  not  of  the  number 
however— for  Helen  seemed  determined  that  evening  to 
let  people  see  that  there  was  nothing  between  the  Captain 
and  herself.  She  was  one  of  those  that  hated  the  shrugs 
and  whispers  of  a  gossipping  crowd.  It  did  not  suit  to 
have  the  betrothal  declared  openly— so  she  preferred  that 
it  should  not  be  surmised. 

The  three  had  strolled  out  upon  the  lawn  to  see  the 
fireworks,  and  as  these  concluded  in  a  blaze  of  starry 
rockets,  Helen  wandered  off  alone  a  little  way  to  one  side, 
into  a  summer  house,  and  sat  down,  gazing  back  upon  the 

fairy  scene. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Helen,"  said  a  manly  voice ;  and 
turnin<r,  she  saw  a  gentleman  who  evidently  had  come  up 
from  the  opposite  direction.  "  I  thought  I  should  never 
have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you." 

He  was  apparently  rather  an  elderly  man,  dressed  in  a 
handsome  brown  suit,  and  there  was  someth  ng  familiar  in 
the  tones  of  his  voice,  and  the  glances  of  his  eye.  But 
that  light,  long  hair— certainly  she  did  not  know  him. 

"You  have  the  advantage  of  me,  sir,  I  am  not  able  to 
recollect  you,"  said  Helen,  slighth-  embarrassed. 


4 


I y8  PEMBERTON  J 

"  I  should  know  you,  anywhere,  in  any  masquerade," 
replied  the  stranger,  in  a  low  but  impressive  voice. 

Helen's  heart  throbbed  tumultuously.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible? She  bent  her  eyes  earnestly  upon  the  face  of  the 
ppeaker,  lit  up  by  the  light  which  shone  even  at  that  dis- 
tance from  the  ball-room. 

"Philip  Morris!  It  cannot  be  you!"  she  said  m  a 
whisper. 

"  Yes,  but  it  is.  We  have  no  such  fun  as  this  at  V  alley 
Forge,  i  can  assure  you.  It  is  worth  coming  to  see.  I 
never  thought  to  see  Fairy  land  come  down  in  this  fashion 
on  old  Philadelphia." 

"  But  the  risk— the  awful  risk  !" 

"  Not  much  more  than  a  battle.  Besides,"  continued 
he  in  a  passionate  tone,  "  I  have  not  set  my  eyes  on  you 
since  that  evening  I  tossed  you  the  rose  in  Pemberton's 
porch,  nearly  six  months  now.     I  would  rather  die  than 

never  see  you!" 

"This  is  madness!"  exclaimed  Helen.  "You  are  a 
rebel,  I  am  an  English  soldier's  daughter,  and  true  to  the 
red  cross  as  steel." 

"I  care  not.     I  love  you." 

"  I  can  never  love  you !" 

"Why?" 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me.    It  is  sufficient  to  say 

that  I  cannot  return  your  love." 

"  Then  I  do  not  care  much  what  becomes  of  me— after 
this  night.  They  are  going  in  to  supper,  I  see.  May  I 
wait  on  you  for  this  one  time?  Captain  Andr6,  I  per- 
ceive, is  devoted  elsewhere."  ^^ 

"  You  are  insane.     They  will  certainly  discover  you. 

"  Not  for  an  hour  or  two.  And  I  care  not  now  what 
becomes  of  me.    I  wish  I  had  half-a-dozen  of  our  men 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


179 


n  any  masquerade," 
3ressive  voice, 
ly.     Could  it  be  pos- 
upon  the  face  of  the 
one  even  at  that  dis- 

you!"  she  said  in  a 

I  fun  as  this  at  Valley 
th  coming  to  see.  I 
;  down  in  this  fashion 


Besides,"  continued 
3t  set  my  eyes  on  you 

rose  in  Pemberton's 
vould  rather  die  than 

Helen.     "You  are  a 
ghter,  and  true  to  the 


It  is  sufficient  to  say 

;  becomes  of  me — ^after 
supper,  I  see.  May  I 
Captain  Andr6,  I  per- 

;rtainly  discover  you." 
d  I  care  not  now  what 
ilf-a-dozen  of  our  men 


here,  and  I'd  carry  off  old  Howe  right  from  the  midst  of 
his  adoring  red-coats." 

"Such  a  threat  is  as  treasonable  for  me  to  hear  as  for 
you  to  utter.  Do  you  not  know  that  if  I  did  my  r"  '^y,  I 
should  immediately  summon  assistance  and  have  you  ar- 
rested?" 

"  Do  so.  Next  to  living  by  you,  it  wou'd  be  sweet  to 
die  by  you.  Chatelard  never  went  to  the  grave,  dug  by 
the  hands  of  the  queen  he  madly  worshipped,  more  wil- 
lingly than  I  should  go  to  one  dug  by  you." 

"  Mr.  Morris,  you  will  drive  me  to  frenzy.  You  say  you 
love  me — " 

"  Madly — devotedly !  " 

"Then  how  can  you  give  me  such  keen  pain?  You 
must  know  that  I  should  never  forgive  myself,  if  your  life 
were  the  cost  of  this  reckless  passion.  You  say  you  love 
me,  why  then  do  you  not  do  as  I  wish  ?  " 

"What  is  your  wish?  " 

"That  you  should  leave  this  place,  and  this  city,  im- 
mediately, and  by  the  way  you  came." 

"I  cannot  leave  the  city  to-night.  Do  you  not  hfear 
the  pother  that  McLane  has  stirred  up? — he  has  set  fire  to 
about  a  mile  of  the  British  abattis." 

"  We  were  told  that  the  cannonade  was  but  a  part  of 
the  programme." 

"  Pretty  good  for  the  managers  of  the  fSte.  McLane 
will  not  like  that.  He  thought  to  break  up  the  whole 
affair.  But  you  see  I  have  more  courtesy,  and,  even  though 
uninvited,  stepped  in  to  enjoy  the  party." 

"  Please  now  go !  Stay :  wait  a  moment.  Here  comes 
Mr.  Pemberton.     Heavens — I  fear  it  is  Major  Tarleton." 

"  I  was  sent  by  Mr.  Pemberton  to  bring  you  in  to  sup- 
per. Miss  Helen,"  said  Major  Tarleton,  for  he  it  was,  be- 
ginning to  speak  before  he  reached  the  sumn\er-house. 


1,  "1 
i    I 


x8o 


PEMBERTON  } 


M 

'1  r 


|.'l' 


"  He  told  me  you  had  strolled  off  by  yourself  for  a  few 
moments.     Ah,  beg  pardon,  I  thought  you  w-^re  alone." 
.  "Allow  me  to  introduce  you,  gentlemen— Mr.  Wharton, 
Major  Tarleton  "—the  gentlemen  bowed. 

Tarleton  cast  a  quick  glance  from  his  keen  black  eyes 
upon  Philip's  face.  "  I  do  not  remember  to  have  met  you 
before,  Mr.  Wharton,  and  yet  your  face  does  not  look 
altogether  strange  to  me." 

"  Probably  we  have  met  at  some  of  our  mutual  friends, 
replied  Philip  composedly.     "  I  am  almost  certain  also 
that  I  have  met  you,"  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  that  reck- 
less humor  which  not  even  the  greatest  peril  could  entirely 

restrain.  .  . 

«'  And  your  voice,  too,  sounds  familiar,  rejoined  lar- 
leton.  "I  pride  myself  on  never  forgetting  a  face  or  a 
voice,  Miss  Helen." 

"And  yet  you  will  have  to  own  up  that  you  fail  this 
time,"  replied  Morris,  laughing. 

"  Not  yet.  Give  me  half  an  hour  to  ransack  my  mem- 
ory a  little,  and  1  warrant  I  tell  you  just  when  and  where 

we  met." 

"  I'll  treat  you  to  a  bottle  of  wine  if  you  do,    replied 

Philip.  ,  r-  A 

During  this  discussion,  Helen  could  almost  have  famted, 
if  fainting  would  have  done  any  good,  and  she  had  been 
of  the  fainting  kind.  To  hear  Morris  thus  coolly  joking 
upon  a  point  which  involved  his  life,  was  as  if  she  were 
seeing  him  play  with  the  trigger  of  a  pistol  whose  muzzle 
was  against  his  forehead.  It  almost  sickened  her.  Re- 
covering herself,  she  said— 

"  Perhaps,  Major  Tarleton,  you  had  better  tell  my  sis- 
ter that  I  am  all  safe,  and  that  we  will  be  there  in  a  few 
minutes.  Thanks  for  your  kindness  in  coming  to  seek 
me."  ,       - 


i 


m 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRKr.   YKARS   AP.O. 


l8i 


by  yourself  for  a  few 
ght  you  wore  alone, 
lemen— Mr.  Wharton, 
owed. 

,  his  keen  black  eyes 
;mber  to  have  met  you 
r  face  does  not  look 

if  our  mutual  friends," 
n  almost  certain  also 
tha  touchofthatrerk- 
est  peril  could  entirely 

miliar,"  rejoined  Tar- 
forgetting  a  face  or  a 

.  up  that  you  fail  this 

ur  to  ransack  my  mem- 
u  just  when  and  where 

ine  if  you  do,"  replied 

iild  almost  have  fainted, 
ood,  and  she  had  been 
orris  thus  coolly  joking 
life,  was  as  if  she  were 
f  a  pistol  whose  muzzle 
ost  sickened  her.  Re- 
had  better  tell  my  sis- 
e  will  be  there  in  a  few 
[less  in  coming  to  seek 


This  was  too  broad  a  hint  for  Tarleton  to  delay  a  mo- 
ment But  as  he  turned,  he  shot  another  sharp  glance  at 
Morris  from  beneath  his  bushy  eyebrows,  and  then  a  quu  k 
gleam  of  intelligence  passed  across  his  dark,  swarthy  face, 
not  unnoticed  by  Helen. 

"Tarleton  suspects  you.  I  saw  it  in  his  face.  You 
must  not  stay  in  this  place  a  minute  longer.  ^^  Go  !" 

"  Give  me  a  flower  out  of  your  bouquet  ?" 

•'  Here  is  a  cluster  of  violets.     1  beg  of  you  to  go  ! 

"Violets!  Give  me  that  spring  rose  out  of  your 
bosom.     That  I  can  live  on  awhile." 

Helen  tore    the    rose    from    its    fastenings.        Here.   • 

Go '" 

He  took  the  rose,  first  covering  the  hand  which  ex- 
tended it  with  kisses.  "  Farewell,  most  fascinating  and 
glorious  of  women  !  You  are  in  yourself  more  splendid 
than  the  Mischianza  to  me." 

Ashe  left  the  backdoor  of  the  summer-house,  Helen 
sank  down  upon  the  bench  from  which  she  had  risen  in 
her  excitement.  "  1  must  not  go  in  yet ;  every  minute  is 
again,"  thought  she.  "Cruel,  cruel  boy  to  tear  my 
heart  so.  and  call  it  love  !  Poor  fellow,  I  wish  he  did  not 
love  me.  If  this  comes  from  saving  a  man  ^^f'^^ 
sure  I'll  never  try  to  do  it  again.  I  wonder  what  Andr6 
would  say,  could  he  have  seen  that  stormy  shower  of  kisses? 
Just  as  well  he  did  not.-  Though  John  is  not  easily  jealous 
And  he  knows  1  love  him  as  foolishly  and  wildly  as-as 
Philip  Morris  loves  me."  j  .„  .i,« 

After  waiting  some  minutes  longer,  Helen  walked  to  the 

"'m  first  person  she  met  was  Major  Tarleton  '<  Where 
is  Mr.  Wharton?"  he  said,  with  a  suspicious  look  in  his 
eyes,  and  making  an  almost  involuntary  step  toward  the 

door. 

i6 


w. 


m 


183  PEMnERTON ; 

"Oh,  I  loft  him  outside.  Major,  if  you  will  give  me 
your  arm,  and  coiichut  me  to  my  sister,  1  sh:iil  Ijc  greatly 
obliged  to  you.  I  shall  never  reach  her  by  myself  in  this 
crowd." 

Tarleton  was  mollified.  He  had  the  greatest  admira- 
tion for  IKir'ii,  not  only  because  she  was  a  belle,  and  ad- 
mired by  other  men,  but  because  her  gay  and  dasiiing 
spirit  embodied  his  very  highest  ideal  of  what  was  beauti- 
ful and  charming  in  a  woman.  Still  he  diil  not  altogether 
forget  his  suspii  ions,  saying  as  they  made  their  way 
through  the  rooms  — 

"  I  know,  Miss  Helen,  who  that  Mr.  Wharton  reminded 
me  of— an  old  Quaker  preacher  from  the  country,  whom  I 
once  met  at  Mr.  Pemberton's." 

"Probably  his  father — or  grandfather,"  said  Helen. 
"  Bella,  has  not  Mr.  Richard  Wharton  a  father,  or  grand- 
father, who  is  a  (Quaker  preacher,  and  lives  out  at  a  place 
they  call  Gwynedd?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Bella.  But  she  could  not  say,  for  she 
did  not  know,  that  the  Mr.  Richard  Wharton  she  had  in 
her  mind  was  a  very  different  person  from  the  gentleman 
of  whom  Major  Tarleton  was  thinking.  In  fact,  when 
Helen  had  been  compelled  to  improvise  a  name  soqu'ckly 
for  Lieutenant  Morris,  she  had  used  that  of  thts  Mr. 
Wharton,  because  he  certainly  did  look  something  like 
the  disguised  officer,  inasmuch  as  he  also  had  long  sandy 
hair. 

"A  little  too  suspicious  again,"  thought  Tarleton  to 
himself.  "I  really  had  a  notion  of  looking  into  that 
Wharton's  identity.  I  suppose  he  is  off  in  one  of  the 
drinking-rooms." 

"What  kept  you  so  long,  Helen?"  questioned  Isa- 
bella. 

"Oh,  that  Mr.  Wharton  dropped  down  upon  me — Mr. 


mA 


,  if  you  will  give  me 

iter,  1  sIkiII  l>e  greatly 

her  by  myself  in  this 

the  greatest  adniira- 

was  a  belle,  and  ail- 

her  gay  and  dashing 

al  of  what  was  beauti- 

he  (lid  not  altogether 

hey  made    their  way 

Ir.  Wharton  reminded 
a  the  country,  whom  I 

father,"  said  Helen, 
ton  a  father,  or  grand- 
ad lives  out  at  a  place 

could  not  say,  for  she 
i  Wharton  she  had  in 
n  from  the  gentleman 
iking.  In  fact,  when 
ivise  a  name  soqirckly 
sed  that  of  thts  Mr. 
1  look  something  like 
e  also  had  long  sandy 

'  thought  Tarleton  to 

of  looking  into  that 

e  is  off  in  one  of  the 

en?"  questioned  Isa- 

i  down  upon  me — Mr. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AOO.  183 

Richard  Wharton  is  old  enough  to  be  my  father.  Major— 
and  we  had  a  long  talk  about  this,  that  and  the  other." 

"I  declare,  Helen,  if  you  are  not  the  strangest  girl.  I 
should  not  have  thought  you  would  care  to  talk  five  min- 
utes with  Mr.  Wharton." 

Helen  laughed.  It  was  one  of  her  most  peculiar  charms 
—a  ringing,  silvery  laugh— whi(h  maile  people  always 
stop  their  conversation  to  listen.  About  once  in  your  life- 
time, if  you  are  fortunate,  you  meet  a  woman  with  that 
silvery,  musi<  al  laughter.  It  is  a  gift— and  certainly  one 
of  the  very  rarest. 

Helen  laughed.  "  I  know  it,  Sis.  I  am  a  strange  girl. 
I  astonish  myself  sometimes.  Even  Major  Tarleton  was 
astonished  to-night,  as  he  came  up  and  found  me  convers- 
ing with  Mr.  Wharton.  How  blank  you  looked.  Major. 
You  evitlently  tliought  you  were  interrupting  a  tete-a-tete, 
a  love  affair— and  with  Mr.  Wharton  !"  and  Helen  laughed 
again,  as  if    it   were   the   most    ridiculous  idea  in  the 

world. 

Helen  would  soon  have  lost  that  silvery  laugh,  had  she 
often  used  it  thus  in  insincerity,  and  as  a  blind.  But 
certainly  she  was  in  no  small  degree  justified  in  doing  it 
on  this  occasion.  She  was  afraid  that  Major  Tarleton 
might  talk— speak  of  her  interview  with  Mr.  Wharton  as  a 
concealed  and  mysterious  thing  ;  and  so  she  chose  to  make 
no  secret  of  it,  and  place  the  whole  affair  in  a  ridiculous 
light. 

When  Helen  got  a  chance  in  the  pauses  of  the  dance, 
an  hour  or  so  after\vard,  she  strolled  again  upon  the  lawn 
with  Pemberton. 

When  well  out  of  hearing  of  the  crowd,  she  said  : 

"  Arthur,  do  you  know  who  thatf  Mr.  Wharton  really 
was?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Richard  Wharton,  of  course.     Though  what 


i84 


ri'.MnF.uTON  ; 


i  ■ '.r 


mt 


m 


a  gentleman  of  his  serious  tastes  is  doing  hero,  puzzles  mo, 
I  confess. " 

'•  It  was  that  rebel  cousin  of  yours,  Lieutenant  Morris," 
said  Hcliin  in  a  whisi)er. 

"  I  hope  not,  he  would  hardly  '.'w  such  a  reckless  thing. 
You  are  certainly  mistaken,  Helen." 

"  I  talked  with  him  in  that  summer-house  for  at  least  fif- 
teen minutes  by  the  v  .i<.ch,  though  it  seemed  to  nie  an 
age,"  replied  Helen. 

"  Phil  must  be  ci.:;; , .     What  could  he  have  come  here 

for?" 

"He  said  to  sec  the  Mischianza — and  me." 

"The  reckless,  i.ot-headed  fellow  1  He  will  do  these 
daring,  imprudent  things  sonn^  <\ay  once  too  often,  and 
then  perish  ingloriously.  He  tr,t s  my  patience  beyond 
measure,"  returned  Pemberton  in  a  low  but  excited  tone. 

•'Iwish  V  n  would  say  to  him,  Arthur— you  are  his 
cousin  and  wirm  fri.^nd,  you  know— that  the  admiration 
he  insists  on  icrciv^'^  upon  me,  is  not  only  entirely  unre- 
ciprocated, ^ut  very  annoying,"  said  Helen  with  emotion. 

"  I  bave  told  Wnn  .  s  much  already ;  but  Phil,  though  a 
splendid  f?llow,  is  obstinate  in  certain  things  beyond  all 
description.  ITe  seems  to  me  to  have  the  obstinacy  of  a 
whole  gc.ntionof  Morrises  concentrated  in  his  single 
person.  N\''.iy  don't  you  dash  him  with  cold  water  your- 
sc'f?— all  women  understand  how  to  do  that,  and  none 
liiure  than  you,  Helen." 

"  I  have  done  so— but  it  only  makes  him  foolish  and 
desperate.     He  is  but  a  boy,  you  know." 

'•Yes,  a  mere  boy — ^just  about  a  year  older  than  you, 
Helen,"  replied  Pemberton,  smiling. 

"  But  I  am  a  woman,  and  that  makes  a  great  deal  of 
difference.  I  am  sure  I  feel  a  great  deal  older.  It  is  pre- 
sumptuous in  him  even  to  think  of  me— in  that  light." 


jing  here,  pii/zlos  ino, 

,  Lieutenant  Morris," 

sucli  a  reckless  thing. 

:r-house  for  at  least  fif- 
,  it  seemed  to  nie  an 

Id  he  have  come  here 

-and  mc." 

\f\     He  will  do  these 

/  once  too  often,  and 

my  patience  hcyond 
low  but  excited  tone. 

Arthur— yon  are  his 
—that  the  admiration 
ot  only  entirely  unre- 
[  Helen  with  emotion. 
y  J  but  Phil,  though  a 
ain  things  beyond  all 
ive  the  obstinacy  of  a 
entrated  in  his  single 
with  cold  water  your- 
to  do  that,  and  none 

lakes  him  foolish  and 

low." 

year  older  than  you, 

r 
>• 

makes  a  great  deal  of 
deal  older.  It  is  pre- 
ne — in  that  light." 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


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OR,    ONE   HUNDRED    YEARS  AGO. 


I8S 


"  I  tlon't  exactly  see  that,  though.  In  five  years  he  will 
be  say  five  years  older,  and  you  will  be  just  what  you  are 
now,  of  course ;  for  a  lady  never  grows  any  older  until  she 

is  married."  .         r    *  *i 

''It  is  too  grave  a  subject  to  make  a  jest  of,  Arthur. 

You  know  my  position  with  Captain  Andr6." 

Pemberton  had  in  him  a  vein  of  the  same  reckless  humor 

that  distinguished  his  cousin.     "  Suppose  you  ship  Andr6 

—he  would  not  be  so  hard  to  get  rid  of,"  said  he,  in  a 

serious  tone. 

Helen  took  her  hand  from  his  arm.  "  Of  course  you 
mean  that  as  a  joke,  Arthur;  but  I  beg  of  you,  as  you  re- 
spect me,  never  to  jest  in  that  way  again.  I  love  John 
Andre— more  than  a  thousand  Philip  Morrises— more  than 
life  itself."  Helen's  eyes  shone  and  her  voice  trembled 
with  the  intensity  of  her  emotion.  ^^ 

"There  is  no  doubt  that  he  will  get  safely  off? 
added  she,  after  a  pause,  for  Pemberton  had  made  no 

reply. 

"I  think  not.  Our  English  friends  like  good  eating, 
and  to  have  good  eating  they  must  encourage  the  farmers 
around  to  come  into  the  city.  Phil,  doubtless,  came  in 
driving  a  farmer's  wagon,  and  will  go  out  driving  one. 
But  take  care  you  do  not  say  anything  of  this  to  Captain 

Andr6."  . 

*'  Arthur!  "  There  were  a  host  of  meanings  conveyed 
in  the  mode  this  one  word  was  uttered.  It  said  mainly 
however—"  How  meanly  you  must  think  of  me? " 

"  I  would  not  betray  Mr.  Morris  to  save  my  life,"  she 
added,  indignantly. 

It  was  a  little  perverse  in  Pemberton,  perhaps,  but  he 
replied— "And  yet  it  was  only  yesterday  that  you  justi- 
fied the  hanging  of  young  Hale,  and  every  other  rebel 


spy 


II 


1 6* 


i86 


PEMBERTON  ; 


"  Oh,  that  was  only  a  general  assertion.  If  a  spy  were 
to  flee  into  my  dwelling  for  safety,  I  would  conceal  him 
if  I  could,  though  my  own  father  or  husband  were  on  his 
track.     You  know  I  would." 

"I  believe  you  would,  Helen,"  rejoined  Pemberton; 
"  you,  or  Isabella  either.  You  are  two  dear,  delightful, 
splendid,  charmingly  inconsistent  women." 

"Consistency!  I  hate  the  very  name  of  it!"  replied 
Helen.  "  I  never  made  so  many  blunders  in  my  life,  as 
once  when  I  tried,  after  hearing  your  famous  Dr.  Duch6, 
to  be  consistent  for  a  whole  week.  Since  then,  I  always 
act  as  my  heart  dictates,  and  have  no  trouble,  and  am — ' ' 

"A  very  bewitching  woman  !  "  added  Pemberton,  in- 
terrupting her. 

"  Nonsense,  Arthur — keep  all  those  fine  speeches  for 
Bel.  And  here  she  comes,  to  learn  what  you  mean  by 
your  long  absence." 

When  Isabella  came  up  with  Andr6,  at  Pemberton 's 
suggestion  they  changed  partners,  for  he  well  knew  that 
Andr6,  who  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word  with  Helen,  was 
anxious  to  be  with  her  for  a  little  while  before  the  evening 
closed. 

As  they  strayed  from  the  others,  down  a  garden  walk, 
Andr6  said — 

"  Have  I  not  been  good,  Helen  ?  I  have  talked  and 
danced  and  flirted  with  a  host  of  belles  this  evening — with 
the  Misses  Chew,  and  Miss  Vining,  and  the  Franks,  and 
the  Shippens,  and  that  beautiful,  just  rising  evening  star, 
Miss  Willing — and  all  the  time  longing  to  be  at  your  side, 
my  sweet.  I  think  I  deserve  quite  a  reward  for  my  self- 
control  and  self-sacrifice." 

At  this  moment  they  were  passing  behind  some  tall 
evergreens,  forming  a  perfect  shelter  from  curious  eyes. 


\ 


*■     :        1 


Ttion.     If  a  spy  were 

I  would  conceal  him 

husband  were  on  his 

rejoined  Pemberton; 
two  dear,  delightful, 
omen." 

name  of  it !  "  replied 
lunders  in  my  life,  as 
ur  famous  Dr.  Duch6, 
Since  then,  I  always 
o  trouble,  and  am — ' ' 
idded  Pemberton,  in- 

ose  fine  speeches  for 
rn  what  you  mean  by 

idr6,  at  Pemberton 's 
for  he  well  knew  that 
word  with  Helen,  was 
ile  before  the  evening 

down  a  garden  walk, 

?  I  have  talked  and 
lies  this  evening — with 
,  and  the  Franks,  and 
ist  rising  evening  star, 
;ing  to  be  at  your  side, 

a  reward  for  my  self- 

ing  behind  some  tall 
er  from  curious  eyes. 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  187 

Helen  stopped  a  moment,  and  turned  up  her  face.     "  Kiss 
me,  John." 

"  There,  three  kisses  are  enough."  continued  she,  blush- 
ing and  walking  on.  "We  will  walk  together  here  just 
five  minutes  longer.  You  have  been  very  good,  and 
stopped  the  mouths  of  all  the  old  women— male  and 
female— for  at  least  a  month.  But  you  must  not  undo  the 
good  work." 

"I  do  not  care  what  the  people  say,  Helen,"  exclaimed 
Andre,  impetuously.     "  Let  them  talk :  what  of  it  ?" 

"  I  hate  to  be  talked  about,"  replied  Helen.  "  Come 
and  see  me  to-morrow,  if  you  can.  Do  you  not  think  it 
was  a  sacrifice  also  to  me,  to  have  you  talking  and  dancing 
with  the  very  prettiest  girls  in  Philadelphia,  just  as  if  I 
were  nothing  to  you?" 

"You  know  you  are  all  the  world  to  me,"  said  Andr6, 
passionately. 
"Ami,  sweet?" 

"  Put  all  the  world  on  one  side,  and  you  on  the  other, 
and  I  would  abandon  all  for  you." 

"  I  would  do  more  than  that  for  you,  John.  1  eople 
call  me  a  wilful,  imperious  girl.  But  if  there  is  one  of 
those  glorious  w  ^men  who  hovered  around  and  petted  you 
to-night,  whom  you  should  learn  to  love  more  than  you 
love  me,  I  would  myself  bind  the  orange  blossoms  around 
her  brow,  and  deck  her  for  your  bridal.  Even  if  I  died 
the  next  day — even  if  I  died  the  next  day !" 

"  It  would  be  just  like  your  generous  heart  to  do  it," 
replied  Andr6,  with  emotion.  "  But  you  need  not  fear, 
sweet.  At  any  moment  this  night,  it  needed  but  a  glance 
of  your  eyes  to  call  me  to  your  side.  I  heard  you  laugh 
once— I  could  tell  your  laugh  amcng  a  thousand— and  I 
thought  you  were  having  a  merry  time  of  it." 
"  That  Miss  Willing  is  very  beautiful." 


,1J 


i  a 


l88 


PEMBERTON  ; 


"She  is  not  half  so  beautiful  as  you  are,  my  darling; 
but  mere  beauty  of  features  is  not  everything.  It  is  the 
charm,  the  fascination  which  flows  from  a  brilliant  intel- 
lect and  noble  soul.  Sweet,  you  amuse  me  by  this  doleful 
strain.  You  do  not  seem  to  know  that  you  have  that 
charm  of  variety,  which  not  one  woman  in  a  thousand 
possesses.     Like  the  poet  pictured  the  Queen  of  Egypt, 

•  Age  cannot  wither  you,  nor  custom  stale 
Your  infinite  variety."  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Helen.  '*  I  hope  I  have  something 
to  hold  you  by,  John— for  I  will  not  hold  you  by  mere 
force  of  honor,  and  it  is  death  to  poor  me  to  lose  you." 

'<  I  never  saw  you  in  this  mood  before,  my  many-colored 
opal.  My  wonder  is  that  so  rare  a  gem  as  you  should  be 
willing  to  rest  upon  so  plain  a  bosom  as  mine.  I  know 
well  you  might  have  generals  and  colonels,  instead  of  a 
simple  captain,  at  your  feet,  my  peerless  !  " 

"You  will  be  a  general  some  day,  and  I  shall  help  you 
win  the  honor,"  exclaimed  Heka  proudly. 

"Of  course,"  said  Andr6,  laughing.  "Else  I  could 
hardly  have  a  glorious  funeral  in  Westminster  Abbey,  as 
that  Creole  witch  predicted." 

"  Please  never  refer  to  that.  It  always  makes  me  shud- 
der," said  Helen.  "  But  indeed  we  are  staying  out  here 
too  long.  And,  after  one  more  dance — this  time  with 
you,  my  splendid  1— we  must  go  home.  Isabella  was  ready 
an  hour  ago." 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


189 


you  are,  my  darling ; 
t  everything.  It  is  the 
1  from  a  brilliant  intel- 
muse  me  by  this  doleful 
iw  that  you  have  that 

woman  in  a  thousand 
the  Queen  of  Egypt, 

jstom  stale 

hope  I  have  something 
not  hold  you  by  mere 
poor  me  to  lose  you." 
)efore,  my  many-colored 
I  gem  as  you  should  be 
osom  as  mine.  I  know 
i  colonels,  instead  of  a 
eerless ! ' ' 

ly,  and  I  shall  help  you 
proudly. 

ighing.     "Else  I  could 
I  Westminster  Abbey,  as 

t  always  makes  me  shud- 

we  are  staying  out  here 

dance — this  time  with 

lorae.    Isabella  was  ready 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   RATTLESNAKE   FLAG. 

A  stupid  fellow  this— and  yet  his  blunden 
Arc  oft  as  good  as  wiser  men's  cunccits. 

One  month  after  the  brilliant  scenes  of  the  Mischianza, 
the  British  army  left  Philadelphia.  Even  at  that  time, 
the  news  was  in  the  city  that  an  Alliance,  Offensive  and 
Defensive,  between  France  and  the  American  States  had 
been  consummated,  and  that  a  French  fleet  and  army  were 
being  made  ready  for  action. 

This  altered  materially  the  position  of  affairs.  Military 
prudence  at  once  dictated  the  union  of  the  British  forces, 
to  enable  them  to  make  head  against  the  combined  French 
and  American  armies.  Therefore  it  was  determined  that 
Philadelphia  must  be  abandoned,  and  the  British  troops 
a^d  fleets  concentrated  at  New  York. 

The  British  Ministry  also  assumed  a  new  front.  Instead 
of  the  submit  and  be  forgiven  policy  of  General  Howe, 
peace  at  any  price,  short  of  Colonial  Independence,  was 
offered  by  the  British  Commissioners,  who  had  been  es- 
pecially appointed  with  the  view  of  thus  preventing  the 
dismemberment  of  the  Kingdom.  The  ground  taken  by 
Andr6  in  the  conversation  with  Pemberton  which  we  have 
recorded,  was  the  ground  now  of  the  Ministers  and  of  Par- 
liament. .Pride  must  yield  before  the  danger  of  the  hour. 
The  right  of  Taxation — everything,  if  need  be — must  be 
given  up,  in  order  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  the  British 
Empire,  and  to  defeat  what  were  considered  the  selfish  and 
ambitious  schemes  of  Britain's  ancient  enemy. 

There  were  of  course  many  sad  partings  when  the  evac- 
uation took  place,  for  it  is  useless  to  deny  that  the  British 
officers  had  made  themselves,  on  the  whole,  popular  in 


m  I 


,11  .-I 


U  J 


,QQ  i'emherton; 

Philadelphia.  They  had  behaved,  as  a  general  thing  in 
a  gentlemanly  aushion.  They  had  made  business  br.sk  m 
and  around  the  city,  by  the  e;usy  spending  of  their  money 
-not  the  Continental  paper,  which  a  m.n  was  afraid  to 
keep  in  his  pocket  over  night,  lest  it  should  fivU  fifty  per 
cent,  before  morning,  but  the  solid  gold  and  silver  of  the 
realm.  And.  besides,  many  of  the  officers  and  men  had 
formed  those  love-ties,  which  spurn  so  often  the  control  of 
party  and  race  and  sect,  and  which  are  perhaps  more  effec- 
tive than  anything  else,  in  holding  the  various  discordant 
tribes  of  men  in  the  bonds  of  a  common  brotherhood. 

Andrd  had  departed  in  the  suite  of  General  Grey-with 
many  promises  of  writing  and  meeting  as  often  ^  possible 
Something  was  said  by  Helen  of  going  to  New  York;  bu 
Isabella  very  naturally  did  not  favor  the  change,  and  thur 
guardian.    Colonel   Musgrave,   did    not    approve  of   it. 
There  might  be.   it  was  thought,  an  attack  upon  New 
York  by  the  allied  French  and  American  forces,  in  which 
case  it  would  be  much  better  for  his  wards  to  be  in  Phila- 
delphia.    There  were  peculiar  advantages  also  in  their 
being  with  a  ladylike  Mrs.  Pemberton,  who  felt  the  affec- 
tion of  a  mother  for  them.     Therefore,  after  commending 
them  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Pemberton,  and  promising  to 
avail  himself  of  every  opportunity  of  corresponding,  Colo- 
nel Musgrave  took  a  tearful  and  affectionate  parting,  and 
departed  with  his  regiment. 

Formed  in  marching  order  at  sunrise,  on  abrijht  morn- 
ing in  June,  the  British  troops  marched  down  below  the 
city,  where  a  large  number  of  boats  had  been  provided, 
and  were  rapidly  ferried  across  the  Delaware. 

It  was  near  ten  o'clock,  and  all  of  the  troops  had  de- 
parted, save  a  few  outposts,  which  were  being  rapidly 
drawn  in,  when  a  British  lieutenant,  at  the  head  of  half-a- 
dozen  men,  sprang  upon  the  porch  of  Mrs.  Pemberton's 


OR,    ONE    m'NnRF.D    YF.ARfi    AGO. 


191 


as  a  general  thing,  in 
made  business  brisk,  in 
lending  of  their  money 
;h  a  m;in  was  afraid  to 
it  should  fall  fifty  per 
gokl  and  silver  of  the 
:  oflkers  and  men  had 
1  so  often  the  control  of 
are  perhaps  more  effec- 
;  the  various  discordant 
iimon  brotherhood, 
of  General  Grey— with 
ting  as  often  as  possible, 
oing  to  New  York ;  but 
jr  the  change,  and  their 
d    not    approve  of   it. 
,  an  attack  upon   New 
lerican  forces,  in  which 
lis  wards  to  be  in  Phila- 
dvantages  also  in  their 
:rton,  who  felt  the  affec- 
efore,  after  commending 
:rton,  and  promising  to 
of  corresponding,  Colo- 
iffectionate  parting,  and 

unrise,  on  abrijht  morn- 
larched  down  below  the 
oats  had  been  provided, 
le  Delaware. 

ill  of  the  troops  had  de- 
lich  were  being  rapidly 
int,  at  the  head  of  half-a- 
rch of  Mrs.  Peraberton's 


mansion,  and  thundereil  at  the  door  with  the  hilt  of  his 
sworil. 

I'embcrton  o[)ened  it  in  surprise.  "  Wliat  is  the  mat- 
ter?" cried  he,  in  amazement. 

"You  are  an  infamous  traitor!"  exclaimed  the  British 
officer,  in  a  fury.  "  You  thougiu  we  had  left  the  city,  did 
you  ?  But  there  are  enough  of  us  here  yet.  Here,  men, 
arrest  this  traitor!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  are  you  crazy?"  shouted  Pember- 
ton,  springing  back,  and  seizing  an  iron  bar  designed  for 
ihe  door,  which  leaned  up  behind  it,  against  the  side  of 
the  entry. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Pemberton  and  the  young  ladies 
came  hastening  out,  alarmed  at  the  violent  voices.  Pem- 
berton stood  with  the  bar  raised,  while  the  officer  had 
drawn  his  sword,  and  the  men  with  their  bayonets  pre- 
sented, waited  but  a  word  to  fall  on  him. 

Pushing  in  front  of  her  son,  Mrs.  Pemberton  advanced 
with  the  air  of  a  queen  upon  the  officer.  "  What  means 
this?  How  darest  thou  make  this  assault?  My  friend. 
General  Howe,  is  not  so  far  off  but  that  he  shall  hear  of 
this." 

"And,"  exclaimed  Isabella,  who,  with  Helen,  also  had 
pushed  to  the  front,  by  Mrs.  Pemberton's  side,  "do  you 
not  know  who  you  are  insulting?  You  shall  answer  to 
Colonel  Musgrave,  our  guardian,  for  this." 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?"  asked  Helen,  with  iv  i  g 
nant  scorn.     "  Are  you  drunk,  that  you  thus  disgrace  iii  3 
uniform  of  a  British  officer?" 

The  officer  had  been  in  a  fury,  as  he  sprung  upon  the 
porch,  but  he  cooled  down  now  very  suddenly.  Con- 
fronted by  three  splendid  women,  whom  he  knew  by  com- 
mon report  to  be  on  intimate  terms  with  his  superior 


'M 


ill 


Ml 


PEMnERTON  ; 
offuors,  he  dUl  not  feci  so  well  assured  of  the  justice  of 

^'^atve" always  supposed.  Mrs.  Pembcrton,  that  you 
ere  a  U.yul  woman !"  s;iid  he.  ,.,,,.         ., 

"And  lama  loyal  woman  I-  she  replied  md.gnantly. 
..  How  darest  thou  call  my  loyalty  in  (luestion  ?" 

"Loyal  people  don't  generally   fly  such  flags  as  that 
vou're  flying,"  said  the  officer  sarcastically. 
^   .'  Why,  what  does  the  man  mean,  Arthur?"  asked  Isa- 
Ik-Ui   ulancing  back  at  Pemberton. 

"  I'ndeed,  1  <lon't  know."  replied  he.     "  I  had  no  ulea 

that  any  flag  was  flying.     In  fact  I  told  Fox  posmvely  not 

to  hoist  our  flag  this  mornmg."  ,  t  fl^inV  vnn 

"  Well   if  you  will  walk  out  into  the  street  I  thmk  you 

will  see  that  a  flag  is  flying,  and  a  d-<l  insulting  one  toa 

Here  a  soldier  came  up  hastily,  anc  whispered  m  the 
car  of  his  superior.  - 1  don't  care,"  replied  he,  I  m 
bound  to  see  this  out." 

"Wait  amoment,'^  said  Pemberton,  and  he  went  out 
into  the  garden  behind  the  house,  preferring  that,  for  evi- 
dent reasons,  to  the  street.  In  ashort  t--  ^e  --  back 
half  indignant,  half  laughing,  and  informed  the  ladies  of 
,^  at  he  had  een.  Foxey  had  bettered  his  instructions. 
tl^ln  to  Pemberton  he  had  procured  somewhere  a 
Continental  naval  flag,  with  its  warning  device  of  a  Rat^ 
TLESNAKE,  and  the  motto,  "Don't  tread  on  me,     and 

inking    hat  the  British  were  all  gone,  had  spread  it 
thinkmg   vn  .^  ^^^  ^^^^.^^  ^^^^^  ^^^ 

audacious  folds  to  tne  urcc^i..  T,,w„r. 

unnaturally,  so  deeply  excited  the  anger  of  the  Bnton. 

"Upon  my  honor,  mother,  I  knew  nothmg  o    the     -s- 
ing  of  that  flag-did  not  even  know  it  was  m  the  house. 

"'!  l' musX'e  been  that  nigger,"  suggested  one  of  the 
soldiers. 


issurcd  of  the  justice  of 

rs.  Pembcrton,  that  you 

she  replied  indignantly. 

y  in  question  ?' ' 

ly  fly  such  flags  as  that 

rcastically. 

can,  Arthur?"  asked  Isa- 

n. 

led  he.     "  I  had  no  idea 

I  told  Fox  positively  not 

nto  the  street  I  think  yon 

tl — tl  insulting  one,  too." 

ly,  and  whispered  in  the 

care,"  replied  he,  "I'm 

nberton,  and  he  went  out 
le,  preferring  that,  for  evi- 
a  short  time  he  came  back, 
nd  informed  the  ladies  of 
1  bettered  his  instructions, 
id  procured  somewhere  a 
warning  device  of  a  Rat- 
on't  tread  on  me,"  and 
;  all  gone,  had  spread  its 
This  it  was  which  had,  not 
he  anger  of  the  Briton. 
[  knew  nothing  of  the  rais- 
cnow  it  was  in  the  house,  ' 


OK,    ONK    llUNDRKl)    VKAUS    ACO. 


»93 


;gei» 


suggested  one  of  the 


..  1) n  the  nigger!     He  wouldn't  have  done  it,  if 

he  had  not  thouglit  it  would   please  his  mastiT,"  rcjilicd 
tile  officer  shrewdly. 

Aiujtiicr  soldier  c  ame  running  up.  "  The  rebel  troopers 
will  be  here  in  five  minutes,"  cried  he,  all  excitement. 
"  It  is  just  as  much  as  you  can  do  to  get  off  safely." 

'•  You  may  thank  your  stars  and  these  ladies,"  cried 
tiie  officer,  shaking  his  sword  menacingly  at  Peniberlon, 
"  tliat  you  don't  hang  where  your  feet  wouldn't  touch  the 
ground,  this  afternoon." 

I'emberton  smiled.  But  Isabella  answered  haughtily : 
*'  And  you  may  thank  your  stars  if  you  are  not  dismissed 
the  service  before  the  month  is  out.  Don't  you  attempt 
to  answer  me.     Go  !  " 

However  the  offl.  er  mi^'ht  have  been  temi)ted  in  his 
indignation  to  delay,  his  men  had  no  idea  of  being  made 
prisoners,  and  were  already  hastening  down  the  street. 
With  a  half-utlered  imprecation  upon  all  meildling  women, 

he  followed  them. 

Not  a  moment  too  soon  for  his  safety.  For  ten  minutes 
after,  a  party  of  McLanc's  men,  witli  Lieutenant  Morris 
at  their  head,  came  swooping  in  at  a  gallop,  and  halted 
directly  in  front  of  Mrs.  Pemberton's  house,  where  they 
gave  three  ringing  cheers. 

«'  What  do  they  mean,  Arthur?"  cried  Mrs.  Pemberton. 
"  I  thought  they  would  be  more  apt  to  burn  us  down  than 

to  cheer  us." 

"Oh,  they  have  come  straight  on  to  the  Rattlesnake 
Flag,"  replied  Pemberton.  "  If  Foxey  rame  near  getting 
us  into  one  scrape,  he  has  got  us  very  cleverly  out  of  an- 
other." ^      -J 

"  I  do  not  like  it  at  all— it  seems  deceitful,"  rejoined 
Mrs.  Pemberton  "  Thcc  must  tell  Fox  to  take  down  that 
flag  as  soon  as  possible.     1  only  tolerated   tlie  other  one, 

17 


'^t  ! 


&. 


154  pf.mbf.rton; 

and. I  certainly  sluill  not  allow  this.  I  shall  take  an  op- 
portui.ity  to  explain  the  whulo  affair  to  I'hilii)  Morris,  the 
first  time  he  <alis." 

"That  would  be  very  right,  mother,"  replied  I'cniber- 
ton,  in  the  most  dutiful  manner.  "And  I  think  myself 
it  is  about  time  fur  this  flag  business  to  slop.  I  shall  speak 
to  Tox  upon  the  subject." 

The  Rattlesnake  flag  waved,  however,  for  several  days, 
sufficiently  long  to  establish  a  new  rei)Utation  for  the  dag- 
house.  The  few  higiv  in  authority  who  were  in  the  secret, 
of  course  manifested  no  want  of  resptut  or  sympathy  for 
the  Pembertons,  wldle  tlie  larger  class  of  Whigs  contented 
themselves  with  saying  that  Mrs.  Pemberton  had  just  saved 
her  property  from  confiscation  or  destruction,  to  use  a 
Scriptural  expression,  by  the  skin  of.her  teeth ;  and  that  it 
was  certaiidy  very  convenient  for  the  mother  to  be  ou  one 
side  of  the  fence,  and  the  son  on  the  other. 


FIRST  NAVAL  VLAGS. 


I!, 


■■j'h-' 


sliiiU  take  an  op- 
I'hilii)  Morris,  the 

"  replied  I'ciubcr- 
ul  I  tiiiiik  myself 
stup.    I  uliall  speak 

•,  for  several  days, 
itation  for  the  flag- 
were  in  the  secret, 
t  or  sympathy  for 
3f  Whigs  contented 
;rton  had  just  saved 
•struction,  to  use  a 
r  teeth  j  and  that  it 
lother  to  be  ou  one 
)ther. 


OR,  ONE  mrNPRK.n  vf.ars  aoo.  193 


PART  II. 
CHArriiR  I. 

ARNOLD  THE   HERO. 

H.-ivc  I  liatllcil  tUrnuKh 
A  host  iif  iLiiiKors— pcrilctl  life  and  health, 
Slialtctcil  my  fMrtiincs— m.w  ti>  be  iknied 
A  few  base  diicau  T    Out  iijioii  them  all  1 

Nearly  a  year  had  elapsed  since  the  evacuation  of  Phil- 
adelphia by  the  British  forces;  a  year  productive,  as  it 
seemed,  of  very  little  benefit  to  the  American  cause.  I  he 
Alliance  with  France  had  not  been  attended  as  yet  with 
tlu,se  substantial  advantages  that  generally  had  been  anti- 
cipited  The  failure  of  the  combined  attack  upon  Rhode 
Island,  the  result,  as  it  was  charged,  of  the  needless  and 
cowardly  sailing  of  the  French  fleet  to  Boston,  thus  leaving 
the  American  portion  of  the  expedition  to  the  hazard  of 
rapture,  had  caused  deep  irritation,  not  only  in  the  popu- 
lar mind,  but  in  the  army.  And  the  cnpture  of  Savannah 
by  the  British  a  few  months  later,  had  naturally  mcreased 
both  the  irritation  and  the  disappointment. 

The  continued  depreciation  of  the  Continental  paper 
money,  also  had  a  very  depressing  effect.  In  spite  of  the 
most  stringent  laws  to  uphold  it  as  a  legal  tender,  it 
steadily  and  rapidly  decreased  in  value.  In  the  June  of 
1778,  it  took  four  dollars  of  paper  to  purchase  one  of 
specie;  nine  months  afterward,  it  took  ten.  And  the  de- 
preciation still  went  on,  almost  from  day  to  day. 

General  Benedict  Arnold  had  been  appointed  to  the 


-i#" 


,  1 


,1   ! 


ii 


^11 


1  i 

"i  i 


If)6  PEMBERTON  ; 

command  of  Philadelphia,  immediately  upon  tho  British 
evacuation.  But  the  extent  of  his  powers  was  undefined, 
and  he  had  soon  come  into  conflict,  not  only  with  many 
of  the  citizens,  but  with  the  autiiorities  of  Pennsylvania. 

Captain  Andre  still  was  in  New  York,  now  acting  as 
Aid-de-camp  to  the  British  Commander,  Sir  Henry  Clinton. 
Colonel  Musgrave  also  was  in  New  York.  Both  had  held 
correspondence  with  the  Misses  Graham  as  often  as  op- 
portunities were  afforded  them  by  the  passage  of  flags  of 
truce  between  the  two  armies.  If  such  opportunities  did 
not  come  very  frcciuently,  both  Helen  and  Andre  belonged 
to  that  class  of  lovers  who  can  live  a  long  time  on  a  few 
words  of  love,  a  few  cherished  tokens.  Neither  thought 
for  a  moment  of  any  Hulure  of  affection  on  either  side. 
They  were  both  extremely  admired  in  their  respective 
circles ,  and  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  this  is  a  great 
element  of  confidence  in  love,  "  He  loves  me,  and  I  am 
worthy  of  his  love;"  she  who  can  >ay  that,  is  rot  apt  to 
.be  jealous.  Jealousy  is  often  the  result  of  a  conviction 
that  you  are  overvalued  ;  a  fear  that  the  lover  will  awake 
from  his  or  her  delusion,  and  see  the  beloved  object  as  he 
or  she  really  is.  And  yet  Andre  had  once  failed  in  love, 
when  he  was  younger  and  less  admired  ;  but  the  nobility 
of  his  nature  was  not  easily  prone  to  jealousy,  and  when 
he  heard  occasionally  of  Helen  Graham  as  a  star  of  the 
first  magnitude  in  the  new  circles  of  Philadelphia,  as  she 
had  been  in  the  old,  and  the  toast  of  the  French  and 
American  officers  as  she  had  been  before  of  tht  jjritish,  he 
felt  proud  of  his  beautiful  betrothed. 

On  a  fine  spring  morning  in  1779— such  days  as  often 
come,  bringing  a  taste  with  them  of  the  balmy  sweetness 
of  June— Arthur  Pemberton  stood  in  the  porch  of  his  mo- 
ther's mansion,  enjoying  the  brightness  and  the  genial 


''  i 


ily  upon  tho  British 
owers  was  undefiiied, 
,  not  only  with  many 
:s  of  Pennsylvania. 

York,  now  acting  as 
;r,  Sir  Henry  Clinton, 
ork.  lioth  had  held 
hain  as  often  as  op- 
e  passage  of  flags  of 
,ch  opportunities  did 
I  and  Andre  belonged 
I  long  time  on  a  few 
ns.  Neither  thought 
tion  on  either  side. 
1  in  their  respective 
;  that  this  is  a  great 
e  loves  me,  and  I  am 
ay  that,  is  rot  apt  to 
:sult  of  a  conviction 
the  lover  will  awake 

beloved  object  as  he 
1  once  failed  in  love, 
red  ;  but  the  nobility 
;o  jealousy,  and  when 
.ham  as  a  star  of  the 
■  Philadelphia,  as  she 
;t  of  the  French  and 
fore  of  tht  ^aritish,  he 

— such  days  as  often 

the  balmy  sweetness 

1  the  porch  of  his  mo- 

tness  and  the  genial 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  197 

warmth.  As  he  stood  there,  speaking  occasionally  to  a 
piwsing  ac(iuaintancc,  a  gentleman  in  military  attire  came 
along.  He  was  a  man  apparently  of  about  forty  years  of 
age,  and  wore  the  uniform  of  a  General  in  the  Continental 
service.  He  walked  with  somewhat  of  a  limp,  and  carried 
a  gold-headed  cane  to  steady  his  footsteps.  Rather  above 
the  medium  size,  and  of  a  muscular  and  vigorous  frame, 
his  face  bofe  the  marks  of  a  bold,  determined  and  ener- 
getic spirit.  But  one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  he  was 
more  than  this — that  he  was  also  both  passionate  and  over- 
bearing. A  man  not  patient  of  contradiction  or  opposi- 
tion— fiery,  impetuous  and  arrogant — and,  therefore,  not 
easily  controlled,  nor  able  to  harmonize  with  other  men 
of  equal  rank.  Stopping  i^  he  arrived  opposite  Mrs. 
Pemberton's,  he  spoke : 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Pemberton.     A  fine  day  this." 
"  A  very  fine  day,  General ;  will  you  not  walk  in  and 
see  the  ladies." 

"  No,  I  thank  you— it  is  scarcely  late  enough  for  that. 
I  am  bound  up  to  the  Congress.  But,  as  it  is  rather  early, 
I  will  sit  down  on  your  porch,  if  you  have  no  objection, 
and  rest  for  a  minute  or  two." 

"  Of  course.     Does  your  leg  pain  you  much,  now?  " 
"  Only  at  times — in  damp  and  rheumatic  weather.    But 
it  is  stiff,  and  lags  behind  the  other." 

"  This  is  the  second  time  you  have  been  wounded  in 
that  leg,  I  have  heard?"  said  Pemberton,  kindly. 

'<Yes,  once  at  Quebec,  and  then  again  at  Saratoga. 
The  red-coats  seem  to  have  a  special  spiie  at  that  leg. 
But  I  cannot  complain  I  only  wondered  afterwards  at 
Saratoga,  that  I  got  through  with  my  life.  It  was  like- 
going  through  the  big  drops  of  a  thunder-storm." 

"Well,  I  hear  that  you  need  not  have  gone  into  the 
17*     - 


H'i 


I     ■! 


'Ki'l 


198 


PEMBERTON ; 


fight,"  rcijlicd  Pemberton  smiling — "that  Gates  did  not 
urge  you  to  go. ' ' 

Arnold  laughed  bitterly.  "  No,  that  is  true.  He  sent 
Armstrong  after  me  to  call  me  back.  1  tell  you,  I  led  him 
a  round.  Wherever  the  fire  was  hottest,  there  I  spurred — 
and  there  followed  Armstrong.  But  after  awhile  I  found 
a  place  as  hot  as  hell — and  then  he  stopped  following  me. 
They  said  afterwards  I  v/as  drunk.  They're  always  lying 
about  me,  the  scoundrels  !  " 

"It  is  true  then  that  you  had  no  command?" 

"No  special  command — but,  you  know,  when  I  was 
once  on  the  field,  I  outranked  nearly  everybody  there. 
And  they  all  seemed  glad  enough  to  obey  and  follow  .ne. 
God's  wrath  !  in  the  midst  of  battle,  soldiers  know  a  leader 
when  they  see  him,  though  they  may  lie  about  him  after- 
wards. ' ' 

"  And  where  was  Gates  !" 

"  Oh,  Gates  was  in  his  tent,  discussing  through  his  spec- 
tacles the  pros  and  cons  of  our  dispute  with  England — ^ar- 
guing it  all  out  with  a  wounded  British  officer." 

"  He  wears  the  chief  laurels,  however,  being  the  com- 
mander," saicl  Pemberton.  "You  know  his  friends  in 
Congress,  and  he  has  plenty  of  them,  would  like  to  put 
him  in  Washington's  place.  They  are  perpetually  refer- 
ring to  the  capture  of  Burgoyne,  and  implying  that  if  he 
had  been  Commander-in-chief,  all  the  British  generals 
would  have  been  captured  by  this  time." 

"They  are  a  set  of  stupid  donkeys,"  replied  Arnold. 
"  Gates  did  not  capture  Burgoyne.  Schuyler  had  ploughed 
{  and  sowed,  and  Gates  came  up  ct  the  last  moment,  and 
I  reaped  the  field.  It  was  already  yellcw  with  the  harvest. 
I  Yes,  Schuyler  planned — Stark  first  put  in  the  sickle — the 
(murder  of  Miss  McCrea  gave  us  plenty  of  maddened  men 


m 


^ 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


199 


hat  Gates  did  not 

:  is  true.  He  sent 
tell  you,  I  led  him 
:,  there  I  spurred — 
'ter  awhile  I  found 
jpcd  following  me. 
ley' re  always  lying 

imand?" 

icnow,  when  I  was 
y  everybody  there. 
bey  and  follow  .ne. 
diers  know  a  leader 
ie  about  him  after- 


g  through  his  spec- 

with  England — ^ar- 

i  officer." 

er,  being  the  com- 

now  his  friends  in 

would  like  to  put 

e  perpetually  refer- 

implying  that  if  he 

le  British  generals 
»» 

,"  replied  Arnold, 
myler  had  ploughed 
e  last  moment,  and 
w  with  the  harvest. 
;  in  the  sickle — the 
of  maddened  men 


?'• . 


—and  I,  though  I  do  say  it  myself,  knew  how  to  lead 
them.  Was  I  not  the  first  man  to  storm  the  British  works  ? 
If  not,  where  did  I  get  this  cursed  ball  in  my  leg  ?  This 
may  sound  like  boasting,  Pemberton,  but  they  force  me  to 
boast.  Congress  will  not  do  me  even  simple  justice.  But 
you  know,  of  course,  how  they  are  hounding  me?" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see,  General,  that  their  Committee  has 
absolved  you  from  all  those  charges  which  were  brought 

against  you." 

"■  Compelled  to  do  it,  sir— compelled  to  do  it !  There 
was  not  a  tittle  of  evidence.  Satan  !  some  expect  a  man 
in  face  of  the  enemy  to  act  with  the  same  deliberation  and 
regularity  as  if  he  were  selling  and  billing  a  lot  of  goods 
in  a  merchant's  counting-room  !  But  what  do  you  think 
they  are  at  now — the  scoundrels  ?' ' 

"  Indeed  I  do  not  know— I  thought  the  whole  matter 

was  settled." 

"I  thought  so  too,  and  resigned  my  command  of  this 
city,  you  know.  But  now  I  hear  from  a  friend,  that  they 
—that  infernal  Congress— have  made  up  their  minds  not 
to  adopt  the  report  of  their  own  Committee  of  Inquiry, 
but  to  order  General  Washington  to  subject  me  to  the  dis- 
grace of  a  court  martial." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not.  General,"  replied  Pemberton,  for  he 
could  scarcely  believe  it. 

'*  It  is  so,  sir.  You  may  depend  upon  it.  And  it  is  on 
a  par  with  the  treatment  I  have  received  from  the  first. 
Any  other  man  would  have  laid  down  his  commission  long 
ago.  What  does  Washington  say?  He  admits  himself 
that  it  is  shameful.  Who  had  done  what  I  had  done?—- 
they  force  me  to  boast  with  their  infamous  injustice— wit- 
ness the  march  through  the  wilderness  to  Quebec— my 
men,  sir,  positively  boiling  their  own  shoes  to  make  soup 


li 


j 


it:i  ■ 

MX- 

,!'  il 
i 


t 


I 


li'! 


200  pemberton; 

of,  such  was  their  hunger ;  toiling  waist-deep  up  icy  rivers ; 
then  that  fearful  siege  in  a  Canada  winter  befoie  the  walls 
of  Quebec— besieging  double  our  own  numbers— my 
wound  I  count  as  nothing,  compared  to  all  the  rest— and 
then  what  was  my  reward  ?" 

"I  know  it  all,  general;  and  I  sympathize  with  you 
deeply.  I  cannot  understand  the  action  of  Congress.  But, 
remember  you  are  not  fighting,  you  did  not  go  through  all 
those  fearful  perils  for  your  own  advancement;  but  for  the 
Country,  and  the  sacred  cause  of  Freedom!"  Pember- 
ton's  face  glowed  with  his  emotion. 

"  I  know  all  that,"  replied  Arnold.     "  Would  I  have 
stood  this  gross  injustice  so  long,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
great  Cause  ?     But  every  man  owes  a  duty  also  to  himself 
and  to  his  own  self-respect.     My  motto  is-'  For  myself 
and  for  all. '     Congress  appointed,  as  you  know,  five  Major 
Generals,  and  every  one  of  them  was  inferior  to  me  in 
rank.     My  name  was  not  on  the  list,  though  it  is  a  matter 
of  common  knowledge  that  not  one  of  those  officers  had 
done  and  suffered  one-half  as  much  for  the  country  as  I 
had.     Then,  after  those  other  affairs  in  Connecticut,  they 
voted  me  a  horse,  in  place  of  the  two  shot  under  me,  'as 
a  token  of  their  approbation.'  "     Arnold  drawled  out  this 
last  in  bitter  irony. 

"  But  they  also  did  you  some  justice.  They  made  you 
at  last  a  Major  General." 

"  Yes,  when  for  very  shame  they  could  no  longer  refuse 
to  But  they  did  not  undo  the  wrong,  even  then ;  for  my 
late  promotion  leaves  me  at  the  foot  of  the  list,  and  all  the 
others,  my  juniors,  outrank  me." 

«'  I  do  not  support  the  Congress  in  this  matter,  General ; 
but  let  us  be  fair  to  them.  You  know  the  reason  which 
was  given  for  your  not  being  appointed  in  the  first  place : 


iii 

in  i 

Iji 

11!  I 


OR, 


ONE    HUNDRED    YEVRS    AC.O. 


30 1 


list-deep  up  icy  rivers; 
/inter  befoie  the  walls 
•  own  numbers — my 
:d  to  all  the  rest— and 

sympathize  with  you 
ion  of  Congress.  But, 
did  not  go  through  all 
■ancement ;  but  for  the 
Freedom!"     Peraber- 

old.     "  Would  I  have 
lad  it  not  been  for  the 
a  duty  also  to  himself 
motto  is — '  For  myself 
IS  you  know,  five  Major 
was  inferior  to  me  in 
it,  though  it  is  a  matter 
le  of  those  officers  had 
:h  for  the  country  as  I 
rs  in  Connecticut,  they 
two  shot  under  me,  '  as 
Arnold  drawled  out  this 

stice.    They  made  you 

r  could  no  longer  refuse 
ong,  even  then ;  for  my 
ot  of  the  list,  and  all  the 

in  this  matter,  General ; 
1  know  the  reason  which 
)inted  in  the  first  place : 


that  your  State  already  had  its  share  of  military  honors. 
I  do  not  myself  think  it  a  good  reason,  but  men  may 
honestly  differ  on  such  a  matter." 

"It  was  nof  their  reason,"  thimdered  the  General, 
loudly  enough  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  passers-by; 
"  it  was  a  mere  infamous  pretence.  They  were  jealous  of 
me,  they  and  their  army  pets.  I  had  no  friends  at  court. 
They  meant  to  keep  me  down,  or  drive  me  out  of  the  ser- 
vice. They  cannot  keep  me  down,  but  they  may  drive  • 
me  from  the  service,"  added  he  with  a  fierce  oath. 

"I  trust  not.  General;  I  trust  you  will  still  cleave  to 
the  Stripes  and  Stars.  We  cannot  spare  so  dauntless  a 
soldier  as  you  have  proved  yourself  to  be." 

"Well,  I  must  be  going,"  said  Arnold,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "I  am  bound  again  to  that  infernal  Congress. 
You  know  how  I  must  want  money— just  on  the  point  of 
my  marriage,  too— and  yet  I  cannot  get  a  settlement  of 
my  accounts  from  their  committee.  I  believe  they  mean 
to  starve  me  !  They  will  neither  accept  my  accounts,  nor 
reject  them.  I  sometimes  almost  regret  that  I  ever  touched 
a  sword.  I  should  be  as  rich  a  man  as  Bob  Morris,  and 
your  other  magnates  who  have  made  a  good  thing  out  of 
the  chances  of  the  war,  if  I  had  remained  in  business 
as  they  did." 

"  If  Mr.  Morris  has  made  money  out  of  his  honest  ven- 
tures, he  has  also  spent  it  generously  and  patriotically ; 
you  must  admit  that.  General,"  replied  Pemberton,  a  little 
warmly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  don't  deny  that.  And  I  was  not  finding 
fault  with  him  for  making  money.  He  simply  remained 
in  business,  and  the  money  flowed  into  his  pockets,  as  it 
would  into  mine,  if  I  had  not  been  so  hot-headed,  and 
rushed  at  the  head  of  my  company  of  State  Guards  to  Bos- 
ton.    Then  I  should  have  Congress  at  my  heels,  accepting 


;t^ 


1l 


I'  * 

I 

'Hi 
,1 
'1 

ii! 

li 
'I 


202  PKMBERTON ) 

my  generous  donations  with  votes  of  thanks,  instead  of 
snarling  and  biting  at  me  like  a  pack  of  mangy  curs.  But 
good-bye,  Mr.  Pcmberton— it's  a  long  lane  that  has  no 
turning;"  and  the  irascible  General  walked,  limping,  up 

the  street. 

As  he  left,  Lieutenant  Morris,  who  was  a  frequent  visi- 
tor to  the  city  since  the  evacuation,  came  up  from  the  op- 
posite direction. 

"  What  had  the  General  to  say  this  morning— any  new 
trouble?"  inquired  he,  laughing. 

"He  is  soured  to  the  very  dregs,"  replied  Pemberton, 
seriously.  "  He  is  hard  to  manage,  but  they  do  not  treat 
him  fairly,  Phil." 

"  I  know  they  do  not.  No  officer  in  the  army  would 
have  patiently  borne  that  promotion  of  five  juniors  over 
his  head— and  he  had  done  more  than  all  of  them  put  to- 
gether. It  puzzled  us  in  the  army  very  much— what  did 
it  all  mean,  Arthur?  You  are  here  on  the  spot,  and 
ought  to  understand  the  internal  workings  of  that  stupid 
Congressional  machine  a  little." 

"  Perhaps  I  do— a  little.     But  holding  their  sessions  in 
secret,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  find  out  things  even  here  on  the 
spot,  as  you  may  suppose.     As  to  those  appointments, 
many  doubtless  looked  at  the  matter  from  the  politician's 
point  of  view— not  from  the  military.     The  question  was 
not  with  them  who  had  shown  capacity,  and  ability  to 
serve  the  country,  but  who  should  partake  of  the  broth. 
Here  was  a  certain  amount  of  honor  and  pay— and  here 
(    were  the  honorable  members'  friends  in  the  thirteen  States. 
Now,  each  State,  they  held,  was  entitled  to  its  proportion- 
ate share  of  the  broth.     To  appoint  Arnold,  would  be  to 
give  Connecticut  more  than  her  proportion— and,  if  it  had 
not  been  so,  the  members  from  Connecticut  had  no  par- 
ticular  love  for  Arnold." 


of  thanks,  instead  of 
X  of  mangy  curs.  But 
jng  lane  that  has  no 
il  walked,  limping,  up 

o  was  a  frequent  visi- 
came  up  from  the  op- 

lis  morning — any  new 

"  replied  Pemberton, 
,  but  they  do  not  treat 

:er  in  the  army  would 
in  of  five  juniors  over 
\an  all  of  them  put  to- 
very  much — what  did 
lere  on  the  spot,  and 
orkings  of  that  stupid 

jlding  their  sessions  in 
;hings  even  here  on  the 
o  those  appointments, 
:r  from  the  politician's 
iry.     The  question  was 
ipacity,  and  ability  to 
i  partake  of  the  broth, 
lor  and  pay — ^and  here 
ds  in  the  thirteen  States, 
[titled  to  its  proportion- 
it  Arnold,  would  be  to 
oportion — ^and,  if  it  had 
:onnecticut  had  no  par- 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  203 

"Oh,  that  is  miserable  1"  exclaimed  Philip.  "We 
could  hardly  believe  that,  in  the  army." 

"  That  is  one  view — the  worst  one.  liut  tiiere  are  other 
men  than  mere  mousing  politicians  in  Congress — there  are 
statesmen  and  gentlemen — and  with  them  the  reason  I 
think  wiis  this.  Despite  all  Arnold's  capacity  and  daring, 
tliey  have  no  faith  in  the  man.  There  are  always  reports 
floating  about  of  his  want  of  high  honor — and  even,  if  it 
must  be  said,  strict  honesty.  Even  here  in  Philadelphia, 
we  hear  the  same  things.  He  will  live  extmvagantly — 
and  he  has  not  the  money  to  pay  for  it.  You  know  how 
far  an  officer's  pay,  in  Continental  money,  will  go  to  sup- 
port him?" 

"I  am  not  quite  certain  whether  it  will  buy  oats  for  his 
horse,  or  not.  Some  of  the  officers  say  it  will ;  others  say 
it  won't — but  here  is  a  bill  I  just  now  paid,  and  you 
can  judge  a  little  from  it,"  replied  Morris,  taking  a  blip  of 
paper  out  of  his  pocket,  and  reading  it : 

"  Lieut.  P.  Morris 

Bot.  of  W.  NiCOLL, 

I  Pair  Boots |«oo  oo 

4  Handlcerchiefs— $ia - —    4800  ^ 

6  Yards  Blue  Cloth— 150 3°°  00 

f 448  00 
Received  payment, 

W.   NiCOLL." 

"I  don't  think  an  officer's  pay  could  go  very  far  at 
those  rates,"  said  Pemberton,  laughing.  "  You  must  live 
on  what  you  all  have  so  much  of — glory  1" 

"But  these  confounded  shopkeepers  and  bootmakers 
are  such  vulgar  fellows  that  they  have  no  proper  sense  of 
glory,"  replied  Philip,  with  a  woeful  laugh.  "  Now 
there's  Arnold,  if  they  would  only  take  pay  in  glory,  he 
has  millions  of  it." 

*'  Yes,  it  is  a  sad  affair.     As  you  say,  he  is  covered  with 


aQ4 


PEMBERTON ; 


n 


^ ' 


X 


Rlory.  and  pcrsecutcl  with  debts.  Moving  in  uur  highest 
and  most  expensive  rinses,  engaged  to  be  married  to  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  women  in  the  city— but  who  wi  1  of 
course  expeet  to  live,  as  his  wife,  in  the  handsome  style  to 
winch  slie  always  has  been  accustomed-und  no  money  ! 

"  Wliat !  has  he  no  property  of  his  own,  and  yet  livmg 
in  such  an  ostentatious  and  expensive  manner  ?' ' 

"  He  says  that  he  spent  almost  the  whole  of  a  handsome 
fortune  in  that  Northern  c  ampaign ;  and  brmgs  in  a  large- 
claim  against  Congress.  The  Committee  of  Accounts  wdl 
not  pass  it ;  evidently  doubt  its  fairness.  Arnold  storms, 
for  his  creditors  torment  him.  Congress  wdl  not  move. 
He  said  just  now  they  meant  to  starve  him,  or  to  force  h.m 
out  of  the  service;  and  he  implied  they  might  perhaps  do 

the  latter."  ,,       ...  ,,,^^ 

"  It  would  be  a  great  loss  to  the  country,"  replied  Mor- 
ris "He  has  no  ecp.al  for  dauntless  intrepidity,  except 
perhaps  it  be  '  Mad  Anthony.'  But  Arnold  has  more  sol- 
dierfy  ability  than  Wayne.  You  have  heard  how  he  fought 
the  British  flotilla  on  Lake  Champlain?  An  ofticer  who 
was  there  told  me  that  he  never  saw  such  fighting.  He 
was  outnumbered  and  beaten,  but  he  would  not  strike  his 
flag— driving  his  galleys  ashore  and  setting  them  on  fire, 
in  spite  of  all  Carleton  could  do.  He  certainly  is  a  terri- 
ble fighter."  ,  „     , 

"  I  had  not  heard  so  much  of  that,"  returned  Pember- 
ton,  "  but  I  had  from  an  eye-witness  an  account  of  his 
conduct  in  those  two  battles  near  Saratoga.  He  says  Ar- 
nold seemed  almost  crazy  with  daring,  and  yet  all  his 
■  orders  proved  his  sanity.  He  never  saw  anything  like  it 
The  men  caught  the  contagion  of  his  stormy  madness,  and 
followed  him  even  up  to  the  muzzles  of  the  British  cannon 
He  shouted,  he  stormed,  he  raged  like  a  lion,  he  plunged 
into  the  hottest  of  the  fire,  and  at  \i^t  absolutely  tried  to 


-■s**^-,i.-'-=«t  " 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


305 


Moving  in  uur  highest 
to  be  married  to  one 
city — but  who  will  of 
the  handsome  style  to 
led— and  no  money!" 
is  own,  and  yet  living 
vc  manner?" 
c  whole  of  a  handsome 
;  and  brings  in  a  large 
iiittee  of  Accounts  will 
rness.     Arnold  storms, 
ongress  will  not  move, 
ve  him,  or  to  force  him 
they  might  perhaps  do 

country,"  replied  Mor- 
less  intrepidity,  except 
It  Arnold  has  more  sol- 
ive  heard  how  he  fought 
jlain  ?  An  officer  who 
jaw  such  fighting.  He 
he  would  not  strike  his 
nd  setting  them  on  fire, 
He  certainly  is  a  terri- 

hat,"  returned  Pember- 
ness  an  account  of  his 
Saratoga.  He  says  Ar 
daring,  and  yet  all  his 
/er  saw  anything  like  it, 
his  stormy  madness,  and 
es  of  the  British  cannon. 
I  like  a  lion,  he  plunged 
t  last  absolutely  tried  to 


force  his  horse  into  the  enemy's  entrenchments.     In  fact, 
he  won  Saratoga." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Arthur,  that  even  the  money  value  of 
that  capture  of  Uurgoyne  and  his  army  might  be  put  at  a 
pretty  high  figure?" 

"No  doubt  .about  that,  but  the  States  are  too  poor  at 
present  to  pay  for  such  actions  in  money,  even  in  Conti- 
nental money.  Arnold  and  all  the  rest  of  you  must  per- 
force take  your  pay  in  Glory.  It  cannot  be  helped,  Phil ; 
I  am  sorry  for  it,  but  it  cannot  be  helped." 

"  I,  for  one,  do  not  complain,"  rei)lied  Morris.  "To 
be  suri.  I  would  like  to  get  enough  to  live  decently  on. 
But  I  am  a  young  man,  and  unmarried.  I  have  no  wife 
and  children  starving  and  freezing  at  home.  Oh,  Arthur, 
if  Congress,  or  the  States,  could  do  a  little  for  thousands 
of  the  officers  and  the  men  who  are  situated  as  I  have 
described,  it  would  be  both  right  and  politic." 

"  My  efforts  shall  never  be  wanting,  Phil.  You  know 
that  of  what  money  I  can  myself  control,  I  give  freely." 

"  I  know  you  do,  Arthur." 

"And  yet,  Phil,  so  unhappy  are  fhe  times,  that  a  vio- 
lent and  ignorant  party  among  our  citizens,  as  you  may 
have  heard,  doubt  my  patriotism,  my  devotion  to  the 
Cause." 

"I  came  mainly  to  speak  to  you  about  that,  but  the 
sight  of  Arnold  turned  my  thoughts  into  another  channel. 
Is  there  any  danger  of  an  outbreak?" 

"  Not  against  me,  or  any  of  the  more  moderate  men. 
But  from  what  I  hear,  Lawyer  Wilson  may  be  attacked  at 
any  moment.  The  City  Troop  have  been  ordered  to  hold 
themselves  in  readiness,  and  a  number  of  Wilson's  friends, 
myself  included,  have  agreed  to  aid  in  the  defence  of  his 
house  if  assaulted." 

"You  may  count  me  in— and  McLane,"  replied  the 


■i- 


ao6 


PEMDERTON ; 


if 


h% 


lieutenant  warmly.  "  Oh  that  wc  had  our  own  trooj)  hero 
— would  wc  not  sweej)  these  vermin,  if  they  come  out  of 
their  holes.  IJut  why  do  they  make  this  special  tilt  at 
Wilson,  he  is  one  of  the  best  lawyers  you  have." 

"  You  know  he  defended  Roberts  and  Carlisle,  who  were 
convicted  of  treason." 

•'  But  they  were  convicted,  and  hung  l)esides.  Did  not 
that  satisfy  them?" 

•'  No.  They  ;;ecm  to  think  that  it  was  even  treasonable 
in  a  lawyer  to  defend  them,  as  if  il  were  not  a  lawyer's 
business  to  defend,  if  need  be,  the  most  wretched  nuir- 
dererl  But  Wilson  said,  and  he  really  believes  besides, 
that  they  were  not  legally  guilty  of  treason." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  him,"  said  Morris.  "  But  we  are 
fighting  to  make  this  a  free  country,  and  what  kind  of  a 
free  cotmtry  would  that  be,  where  men  could  not  safely 
differ  in  opinion?" 

"  Wilson  also  defended  those  merchants  who  would  not 
conform  to  the  established  scale  of  prices." 

"  Well,  if  he  has  violated  the  laws,  let  them  punish  him 
according  to  the  laws.  But  I  am  opposed  to  this  mob- 
rule,  to  the  death." 

"And  I  also,"  said  Pemberton,     "It  is  one  of  our 
greatest  dangers.     I  hope  it  will  be  trodden  out  at  once 
^  wherever  it  shows  its  snake-like  head." 

"  I  must  go  and  tell  McLane  about  this,"  said  Morris, 
rising,  for  he  had  taken  a  seat  on  the  porch  during  this 
conversation. 

"  Come  and  take  dinner  with  us,  Phil ;  you  know  we 
are  always  glad  to  see  you." 

"I  will — or  else  early  in  the  evening.  How  is  the 
beautiful  Isabella?" 

"You  mean,  I  suppose,  the  adorable  Helen?"  replied 
Pemberton,  with  a  smile.     "She  is  as  beautiful  and  be- 


OU,    ONE   HUNDRED    YEARS    AGO. 


307 


(I  our  own  troop  here 
if  they  come  out  of 

c  this  si>c(ial  tilt  at 
you  have." 

nd  Carlisle,  who  were 

ng  Ix-'sides.     Did  not 

was  even  treasonable 

.  were  not  a  lawyer's 

most  wretched  nuir- 

;ally  believes  besides, 

reason." 

►lorris.  "  But  we  are 
,  and  what  kind  of  a 
men  could  not  safely 

chants  who  would  not 

rices." 

,  let  them  punish  him 

apposed  to  this  mob- 

"It  is  one  of  our 
!  trodden  out  at  once 
i." 

ut  this,"  said  Morris, 
the  porch  during  this 


witching  as  ever.  Thil  "—in  a  low  voice—"  I  am  glad  to 
find  yim  are  growing  more  sensible.  If  you  <  annot  have 
a  wom.ui  as  your  wife,  then  have  her  .as  your  friend." 

«.  Arth— olil  boy,"  replied  Philip,  in  the  same  low  tone, 
but  his  voice  quivered  with  its  earnestness,  "did  you  ever 
know  me  to  give  up  anything,  while  there  was  still  the 
faintest  hope?  I  may  alter  my  plans,  but  I  never  alter 
my  purpose.  There  is  no  other  woman  on  the  wide  earth, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  save  Helen  Graham." 

Pemberton  sliook  his  head  sadly,  as  his  friend  walked 
slowly  away.     He  had  supposed,  from  the  more  subdued 
and  sensible  manner  in  which  Philip  had  behaved  of  late, 
th.it  he  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  winning  Helen.     But 
it  seemed  that  he  still  loved  her  with  the  same  intensity  as 
before— and  only  waited  a  favorable  opportunity  to  press 
his  suit.     Whether  Helen  had  been  deceived  as  well  as 
himself,  Pembcrton   could  not  tell  from  her  behaviour, 
which  was  always  exceedingly  kind  and  friendly  to  Philip. 
Our  own  opinion  is  that  she  was  not  very  greatly  de- 
ceived.    Women  as  keen-witted  as  Helen,  are  not  apt  to 
be  deceived  in  matters  of  that  character.     But  she  was 
very  much  pleased  nevertheless  with  the  change  in  the 
Lieutenant's  manner.     She  wished  him  for  a  friend,  if  she 
did  not  wish  him  for  a  lover.      What  she  might   have 
wished,  if  she  had  never  seen  Andr6,  it  is  impossible  to 
say. 


i,  Phil ;  you  know  we 

jvening.     How  is  the 

able  Helen?"  replied 
i  as  beautiful  and  be- 


zo8 


I'KMIIKRrON  ; 


,M 


CIIAI'TICR  II. 

A   CHAKM. 

How  ciiriout  that  a  fuw  inii.iro  yanls  of  hunting 
SliuulJ  liavo  •»  K":i>»  »  cluirm  1 

Early  that  evening,  IMiilip  came  according  to  promise. 
But  lie  lud  scancly  spoken  to  tlic  f.imily  ( in  Ic,  wludi  lie 
found  gathered  in  llie  parlor,  when  l-'oxey  came  rushing  in, 

wild  wit'i  terror. 

"Oh,  Mas'    Arth— <ley're  comin',    dey're   comin' 1  " 

cried  he. 

"Who    is  coming,   Fox?"    asked    Mrs.    Pemberton, 

calmly. 

"  Dc  mob--<le  wild  mob.  Dey  had  a  mcctin'  out  Arch 
Street  'bove  I'ift.  den'.  Arnol'  tried  to  swaile 'em  to 
•sperse— but  dey  flung  stones  at  de  Gen'ral,  and  made  him 
run  'way.     And  now  dey're  'bout  marchiu'  down  into  dc 

town." 

Pemberton  started  up.  "  I  <lo  not  think  they  mean  to 
attack  us,  mother ;  but  I  will  wait  and  see.  If  they  pass 
us,  I  shall  hurry  out  through  the  garden  tc  Wilson's— for 
probably  they  are  going  there.     Where  are  you  bound, 

Philip?" 

"Around  to  the  rendezvous  of  the  City  Trflbp.  If  we 
can  get  a  dozen  together,  I  think  it  will  be  enough  at 
least  to  make  a  diversion.  We  shall  pxss  here  first.  Had 
you  not  better  close  up  everything  in  front,  Aunt  Rachel?" 

"What!  like  convicts,  that  fear  the  constable?"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Pemberton,  rising  majestically  from  herseat. 
"  Fox,  light  every  lamp  and  candle  in  the  rooms  in  the 
front  part  of  the  house.     And,  girls,  I  intend  going  out 


T 


OR,    ONE    MirNDREd   ¥BX«S   AGO. 


aoQ 


Ls  ofhimiiiig 

■cording  to  promise, 
lily  cirt  lo,  whidi  lie 
ixcy  came  rushing  in, 

,    (Icy'rc   comin'  1  " 

1    Mrs.    Pcmbcrton, 

tl  a  mcctin'  out  Arch 
iccl  to  swadc  'cm  to 
n'ral,  and  made  him 
irchiu'  down  into  dc 

think  ♦hey  mean  to 
id  see.  If  they  pass 
len  tr  Wilson's — for 
lere  are  you  bound, 

;  City  Trflbp.  If  we 
it  will  be  enough  at 

pass  here  first.     Had 

front,  Aunt  Rachel?" 
the  constable?"  ex- 

stically  from  her  seat, 
in  the  rooms  in  the 

,  I  intend  going  out 


into  the  porch  to  see  what  tht'<.«!  men  look  like.  Will  >i)U 
((.me  uulwilh  me?  Do  not  if  you  think  there  is  .my 
danger."  ,^ 

'•or  course,  Mrs.   Pcmbcrton,  we  will  go  with   you, 
rciilied  tlie  two  ladies,  ahno.t  in  a  breath.     "  It  is  the 
very  tiling  to  do,  if  you  apprchciid  an  attack,  to  meet  it 
at  the  tlueshold,"  said  Isabella  proudly. 

<'Ves,  its  father  used  to  say,  always  'face  the  music.' 
Let  us  look  these  curs  in  the  eye,"  added  Helen  haughtily. 

Morris  looked  at  I'emberton.  It  wxs  a  glance  of  inter- 
rogation. 

"  I  think  the  ladies  are  right,  Phil.  And  bad  as  mobs 
are,  they  cannot  get  up  a  mob  in  Philadelphia,  which  will 
harm,  or  even  insult,  a  woman." 

"Then  I'm  off,"  said  Morris,  hastening  out  of  the  front 

door. 

IJy  the  time  Fox  had  lit  up  the  front  rooms,  and  the 
ladies  had  donned  their  shawls,  the  noise  of  the  mob  could 
be  distinctly  heard  coming  down  the  street.  It  was  a  low, 
dull  roar,  as  of  an  a[)proaching  tornado. 

Mrs.  Pemberton  and  her  two  aids-de-ramp— as  Helen 
laughingly  described  her  sister  and  herself  afterwards— 
threw  wide  open  the  front  door,  and  took  their  station  in 
the  porch,  just  before  the  head  of  the  mob  reached  the 
house.  All  the  other  houses  were  dark,  and  tightly  closed 
in  front ;  and  the  mob,  as  they  came  up,  were  evidently 
surprised  at  the  festive  appearance  Mrs.  Pemberton's  man- 
sion presented,  and  at  the  presence  of  the  three  ladies  on 
the  porch.  But  they  marched  along— several  hundred 
silent  men,  armed  with  muskets,  and  dragging  two  cannon, 
leading  the  van  ;  and  behind  them  a  noisy,  swearing  mul- 
titude, unarmed  save  with  stones  and  r  lubs. 

It  was  evident  at  once  from  the  passing  of  the  front 
ranks,  that  no  harm  was  intended  to  the  Pembertons,  un- 
l6* 


i[r 


4" 


3,Q  pemherton; 

less  the  breaking  of  the  front  windows  with  stones  might 
be  called  such.  But  not  a  stone  was  thrown  ;  and  when 
the  procession  had  about  half  passed,  to  Mrs.  Pemberton's 
excessive  surprise,  she  saw  many  eyes  cast  upward,  and 
then  heard  a  rough  voice  shout : 

"There  cheers  for  the  Rattlesnake  Flag!"  which  were 

given  with  a  will. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?"  said  she  to  Isabella.        Is  it 
possible  that  old  affair  is  not  forgotten  yet  ?" 

The  young  ladies  exchanged  glances,  but  said  nothing. 
The  roof  over  the  porch  prevented  them  from  seeing  what 
was  going  on  above,  but  they  had  a  strong  conviction  of 
what  was  really  transpiring.  For  Foxey,  in  his  anxiety  for 
the  safety  of  the  dwelling  and  its  inmates,  had  gone  Tip- 
stairs,  and  was  waving  the  Rattlesnake  Flag  as  a  chain 
and  protection  from  one  of  the  upper  windows. 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


211 


ws  with  stones  might 
s  thrown  ;  and  when 
,  to  Mrs.  Pemberton's 
yes  cast  upward,  and 

Le  Flag!"  which  were 

le  to  Isabella.  "  Is  it 
en  yet?" 

ces,  but  said  nothing, 
hem  from  seeing  what 
I  strong  conviction  of 
oxey,  in  his  anxiety  for 
nmates,  had  gone  -ip- 
nake  Flag  as  a  chai  ti 
er  windows. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    MOB. 

A  mob — a  riotous,  disorderly  mobi 
1  iirgiie  not  with  mun  in  such  a  mood. 
Save  with  the  ball  and  bayonet. 

No  sooner  had  Pemberton  ascertained  that  the  front 
ranks  of  the  mob  had  passed  the  house,  than  picking  up 
his  hat  and  cane,  he  ran  rapidly  down  the  garden,  and 
thence  to  Mr.  Wilson's,  at  the  corner  of  Walnut  and  Third 
streets.  The  mob  had  not  turned  into  Third  street,  as  he 
feared,  but  had  gone  down  to  Second,  as  if  to  disguise  the 
object  they  had  in  view. 

At  the  door  of  Mr.  Wilson's  house  a  number  of  gentle- 
men were  standing,  listening  and  watching— men  of  intel- 
ligence and  high  position,  who  did  not  choose  to  see 
Liberty  stricken  down  in  the  home  of  its  professed  friends. 
Among  the  twenty  or  more  thus  gathered,  were  some  who 
held  commissions  in  the  Continental  army,  such  as  Cap- 
tains McLane  and  Campbell,  Colonel  Grayson  and  Gen- 
eral Mifflin. 

Soon  they  heard  the  roar  of  the  mob,  as  it  turned  up 
Walnut  from  Second,  and  came  directly  on  toward  the 
house.  Now  the  previously  silent  and  armed  men  began 
to  shout,  crying  out,  "  Death  to  Traitors !  Death  to  all 
Tories !" 

The  gentlemen  at  once  retired  within  the  house,  and 
barricaded  the  doors.  The  lower  windows  were  closed 
tight  with  shutters,  but  you  could  see  from  the  street  that 
the  second  and  third  story  windo^vs  were  open. 

•'Bring  out  that  old  Tory,  Jim  Wilson!"  shouted  oiie, 
who  appeared  to  be  the  leader  of  the  mob.  "  Bring  him 
out,  I  say — or  your  blood  be  upon  your  own  heads  1" 


I  it 

Hi:' 

'4 


l!i 


91  a  PF.MnERTON; 

A  clear,  ringing  voice  from  the  house  replicu— no  one 
ever  knew  afterwards  whose  voice  it  wa,s— "  Let  all  men 
who  love  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  would  not  suffer  harm, 
retire  from  before  this  house,  which  is  James  Wilson's  castle. 
If  they  will  not,  their  blood  be  upon  their  own  heads!" 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  the  speaker's  mouth, 
before  a  shot  from  some  rash  hand  had  entered  the  second 
story  window  whence  the  voice  proceeded.  And  immedi- 
ately, like  an  echo,  came  the  report  of  one  musket  from 
the  same  window,  followed  by  a  shriek  from  a  man  who 
stood  near  the  leader  of  the  rioters,  as  he  threw  up  his 
hands,  and  fell  to  the  ground  mortally  wounded. 

At  this,  there  was  a  volley  from  the  mob,  answered  by 
a  return  volley  from  the  house.     The  contest  had  fairly 

t>egun. 

"  Bring  up  the  cannon !"  shouted  various  voices.  But 
this  was  not  easily  done ;  for  the  fire  of  the  besieged— and 
they  were  good  marksmen,  and  the  distance  was  short- 
told  fearfully  upon  those  who  rushed  to  the  ropes  of  the 
cannon  in  response.  And  soon  the  middle  of  the  street, 
within  musket  reach  of  the  windows,  was  entirely  cleared ; 
'  the  mob  clustering  in  a  line  on  the  same  side  of  the  street 
as  the  house,  where  it  was  difficult  to  aim  at  them. 

But,  before  many  minutes,  a  party  of  the  rioters,  headed 
by  two  men  with  sledge-hammers,  made  a  rush  for  the 
door  of  the  dwelling.  Here  it  was  impossible  for  those 
above  to  harm  them,  except  by  greatly  exposing  their  own 

persons. 

"Thud!— thud!"— went  the  heavy  sledges— soon  fol- 
lowed by  a  sharp  crash,  as  one  of  the  panels  of  the  door 
was  stove  in.  But  the  moment  the  panel  gave  way,  the 
besieged  fired  a  volley  from  the  entry  through  the  open- 
ing, and  the  two  sledgemen  staggered  back  and  fell  dead 
on  the  pavement. 


.-*•.•: 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS    AOO. 


213 


Kousc  replieu — no  one 
it  was— "Let  all  men 
would  not  suffer  harm, 
i  James  Wilson's  castle. 
)on  their  own  heads!" 
the  speaker's  mouth, 
lad  entered  the  second 
-eeded.     And  immedi- 
•t  of  one  musket  from 
iriek  from  a  man  who 
;rs,  as  he  threw  up  his 
ally  wounded, 
the  mob,  answered  by 
The  contest  had  fairly 

ed  various  voices.     But 
re  of  the  besieged — and 
le  distance  was  short — 
led  to  the  ropes  of  the 
[le  middle  of  the  street, 
vs,  was  entirely  cleared ; 
e  same  side  of  the  street 
:  to  aim  at  them, 
■tyof  the  rioters,  headed 
3,  made  a  rush  for  the 
(vas  impossible  for  those 
eatly  exposing  their  own 

leavy  sledges — soon  fol- 
■  the  panels  of  the  door 
the  panel  gave  way,  the 
entry  through  the  open- 
;ered  back  and  fell  dead 


But  the  contest  probably  would  have  gone  hard  with  the 
defenders  of  the  house,  if  at  this  moment  a  cry  of  "the 
horse  !  the  horse  !  "  had  not  been  heard  from  the  rear  of 
the  mob;  and  supposing  a  whole  troop  was  npon  them, 
the  greater  part  of  the  rioters— armed  men  and  all— fled 
in  every  direction,  carrying  off  their  wounded  ;  while  up 
swept,  through  the  dark,  like  a  very  small  tornado,  just 
nine  horsemen.  Morris  had  found  these  at  their  ciuarters, 
and,  hearing  the  firing,  they  had  concluded  to  risk  an  at- 
tack, without  waiting  for  any  more  of  their  number.  As 
it  turned  out,  these  were  sufficient;  though  others,  in  a 
short  time,  came  riding  in,  and  the  city  was  put  under 

regular  patrol. 

Of  the  defenders  of  the  house— which  was  called  ever 
afterwards,  half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest.  Fort  Wilson- 
one,  Captain  Campbell,  was  killed,  and  several  were 
wounded.  Of  the  rioters,  five  certainly  were  killed,  and  a 
large  number  wounded.  But  of  course  the  number  of  the 
latter  could  never  be  ascertained— as  they  had  no  desire 
to  incur  in  addition  the  dangers  of  a  criminal  prosecu- 
tion. 

When  Pemberton  returned  home,  half-an-hour  after- 
ward, he  found  his  mother  and  the  young  ladies  anxiously 

awaiting  him. 

"I  am  all  safe,  mother,"  said  he,  as  he  entered  the 

room. 

"  God  be  thanked  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pemberton,  as  she 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him.^^  "And  I 
hope  every  other  mother  can  say  that  to-night." 

Isabella  also  came  up  and  kissed  him.  And  then  Helen. 
The  excitement  and  agitation  of  the  moment  overpowered 
their  usual  ceremonious  behavior.  It  seemed  very  natural 
to  both  of  them  to  do  this,  and  even  Mrs.  Pemberton, 
decorous  to  the  last  degree,  did  not  open  her  grave  eyes. 


» ■ 


^■VrlF*i    Vy 


314 


rEMDERTON  ; 


Pemberton  related  what  had  taken  place,  a  great  deal 
of  Avhich  they  had  alrea.ly  surmised  from  the  discharges 
of  musketry,  which  they  had  plainly  heard. 

"  Ah,  my  son,"  said  his  mother,  "  this  is  what  I  feared, 
as  the  result  of  throwing  off  their  dutiful  allegiance  to  their 
King      It  is  but  a  step  from  Rebellion  to  the  Mob." 

"Well  we  have  given  King  Mob  a  pretty  good  lesson 
to-night,"  replied  Pemberton  proudly.  "  I  think  it  wdl 
be  a  good  while  before  another  mob  raises  its  foul  head  in 

Philadelphia." 

«'  I  hope  so,"  rejoined  his  mother,  shaknig  her  head 
despondingly ;  "but  this  Rebellion  began  in  a  mob  and, 
if  it  succeeds,  it  will  be  the  triumph  of  a  mob. 

"Yes"  said  Helen,  "and  then  it  will  die  of  a  mob. 
Uncle  once  said  that  if  the  King  would  but  withdraw  his 
armies,  the  Rebellion  would  fall  to  pieces  of  itself." 

"  I  wish  he  would  only  try  the  experiment,  replied 
Pemberton.     "  Come,  Helen,  that  is  a  ground  we  both  can 

meet  on."  ,  ,    j      •  i    >i 

•«  I  think  it  is  time  we  were  all  going  to  bed,  girls,^^ 
said  Mrs.  Pemberton.  "  You  must  take  care  of  your  roses; 
and,  obedient  to  her  signal,  they  followed  her  out  of  the 
room      Isabella  having  to  come  back  again  for  a  moment, 
however,  for  her  handkerchief— and  a  good-nigiit  kiss. 

Pemberton  walked  the  floor  for  a  full  hour  aftenvards. 
He  was  a  sincere  lover  of  his  country,  and,  in  the  aid  he 
had  given  the  Rebellion,  had  no  private  ends  to  gratify. 
Even  his  ambition  was  in  no  wise  enlisted  in  the  success 
of  the  American  cause.     The  army  was  not  particularly  to 
his  taste,  even  if  he  had  not  been  debarred  from  it  by  his 
mother's  prayers.     And  for  political  and  civil  honors  he 
also  cared  but  little.     He  valued  too  highly  the  precious 
gifts  which  generally  have  to  be  sacrificed  upon  the  shnne 
of  Ambition,  by  those  who  would  succeed  in  her  service : 

.f   ,   * 


'"*'•    t.»*-*S»-««!i*"^'"*'»'^*'*'  " 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRED    YEARS    AGO. 


2«S 


en  place,  a  great  deal 
(1  from  the  discharges 
heard. 

"  this  is  what  I  feared, 
tifiil  allegiance  to  their 
ion  to  the  Mob." 
)  a  pretty  good  lesson 
Uy.  "  I  think  it  will 
b  raises  its  foul  head  in 

ther,  shaking  her  head 
I  began  in  a  mob  and, 
h  of  a  mob." 
I  it  will  die  of  a  mob. 
vould  but  withdraw  his 
pieces  of  itself." 
;  experiment,"  replied 
is  a  ground  we  both  can 

I  going  to  bed,  girls," 
:ake  care  of  your  roses;" 
bllowed  her  out  of  the 
ick  again  for  a  moment, 
id  a  good-nigiit  kiss, 
r  a  full  hour  afterAvards. 
itry,  and,  in  the  aid  he 
private  ends  to  gratify. 
3  enlisted  in  the  success 
y  was  not  particularly  to 
,  debarred  from  it  by  his 
ical  and  civil  honors  he 
too  highly  the  precious 
acrificed  upon  the  shrine 
I  succeed  in  her  service : 


perfect  independence  of  thought,  perfect  honesty  and  sin- 
(  crity  of  sj'eech  and  action. 

licsides,  he  was  just  the  opposite  of  a  fanatic  and  l)igot. 
ilc  always  saw  his  oi)ponent's  view  of  a  question  (luile  its 
dearly  as  his  own.  Therefore  he  could  not  help  laying 
himself  open  continually  to  tlie  suspicions  of  men  of 
smaller,  narrower  minds.  He  was  an  earnest  Whig,  but 
ho  understood  clearly  how  another  man  could  be  an 
equally  earnest,  eciually  honest  Tory.  And  though  he  was 
a  Whig,  he  did  not  blind  himself  to  the  force  of  the  argu- 
ments that  were  urged  on  the  opposite  side. 

Now  here  was  this  Mob.  How  much  truth  was  there  in 
what  his  mother  and  Helen  had  said  ?  Could  the  country 
hold  together,  and  establish  a  great  Empire— an  Empire 
without  an  Emperor— if  the  armies  of  the  United  States 
should  prove  successful  ?  They  had  not  been  able  as  yet 
to  adopt  the  Articles  of  Confederation,  althou^  reported 
two  years  previously— and  even  these  Articles  were  lacking 
in  those  powers  necessary  to  the  very  existence  of  a  govern- 
ment. No  tax  could  be  laid,  or  money  appropriated, 
without  the  consent  of  nine  out  of  the  thirteen  States. 
What  could  such  a  Confederation,  even  if  agreed  upon, 

amount  to  ? 

Then  again,  what  would  this  one-sided  French  doctrine 
of  Equality— unbalanced  by  the  equally  true  doctrine  of 
Ine(iuality— lead  to?  Mob  Law?  Perhaps ;  though  the 
natural  instinct  of  self-preservation  in  the  Community, 
might  be  relied  upon  to  meet  and  check  that. 

But,  carrying  out  the  idea  of  Equality,  and  coupling 
with  it  the  kindred  doctrine  of  the  absolute  right  of  the 
Majority  to  rule— where  would  that  lead  ?  Where  could 
ic  lead,  but  to  the  making  the  ignorant  and  uncultivated 
classes  the  real  and  legal  rulers  of  the  land,  who  would 
hold  that  they  had  the  right  to  decide  all  questions,  politi- 


8l6 


I-EMFERTON  J 


M 


cal,  moral  and  religious;  and  that  by  their  decision,  the 
wiser  and  more  cultivated  classes  siiould  abide.  It  was  a 
dark  picture  of  a  future,  when  men  of  ability  and  culture — 
the  natural  and  Cicjd-given  leaders  of  the  nation — should 
be  thrust  aside  from  all  places  of  trust  and  power,  to  make 
room  for  a  set  of  unprincipled  Demagogues,  who  would 
flatter  the  people,  crying  Vox  Fopuli  vox  Dei,  as  his  flat- 
terers cried  out  to  King  Herod,  careless  that  the  same 
result  would  follow,  and  this  many-headed  Herod  also  be 
eaten  to  death  by  worms. 

Still,  he  saw  nothing  else  to  be  done,  than  to  go  for- 
ward. Not  exultingly,  like  many,  but  still  earnestly  and 
hopefully.  Giving  what  influence  he  had  to  the  adoption 
of  such  e:iergetic  measures  as  were  absolutely  necessary  to 
the  success  of  the  war,  while  he  also  gave  his  influence  to 
the  support  of  those  great  principles  of  Individual  Freedom, 
without  the  establishment  of  which,  the  success  of  the 
States  would  neither  be  conducive  to  their  own  progress  in 
civilization,  nor  to  that  of  the  world  at  large. 

And  having  come  to  this  conclusion,  Pemberton  looked 
at  his  watch,  saw  that  it  was  an  hour  later  than  his  usual 
bed-time,  dismissed  the  subject  from  his  mind,  and  occu- 
pying its  place  with  the  more  agreeable  thought  of  Isabella 
Graham,  retired  to  his  room,  and  to  rest. 


'     ..  ;  ♦  - 


OK,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


317 


by  their  decision,  the 
ould  abide.  It  was  a 
if  ability  and  culture — 
of  the  nation — should 
1st  and  power,  to  make 
uiagogues,  wlio  would 
//  vox  Dei,  as  his  flat- 
:areless  that  the  same 
headed  Herod  also  be 

done,  than  to  go  for- 
but  still  earnestly  and 
he  had  to  the  adoption 
absolutely  necessary  to 
o  gave  his  influence  to 
of  Individual  Freedom, 
;h,  the  success  of  the 
to  their  own  progress  in 
d  at  large. 

ion,  Pemberton  looked 
)ur  later  than  his  usual 
im  his  mind,  and  occu- 
able  thought  of  Isabella 
to  rest. 


-    * 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   Sl'Y. 

"TliiH  i-onciirrcnce, 
This  opportimily,  is  in  our  f.ivor, 
And  .ill  ailvanlajics  in  war  are  l.iwful ! 
Wc  take  wliiit  offers  wilhuut  queslionlng."— lKa//^»M^<'/«. 

It  was  several  weeks  after  the  events  related  in  our  last 
chapter,  when  a  young  woman  called  one  morning  at  Mrs. 
Pemberton's,  and  asked  to  see  Miss  Helen  Graham  for  a 
few  minutes  at  the  door.  Helen  went  out,  and  inquired 
as  to  her  busir.ess. 

"  If  you  are  Miss  Hilen  Graham,"  said  the  young  wo- 
man, "Mrs.  Malone  wished  me  to  stop  and  inquire 
whether  your  leddyship  wanted  any  things  washed  yet  this 

week?" 

The  woman  spoke  with  a  slight  Irish  accent,  but  was 
apparently  a  native  of  the  colony. 

"  I  have  a  few  handkerchiefs  and  collars  for  her,"  re- 
plied Helen.  "  Come  up-stairs  with  me,  and  I  will  give 
them  to  you." 

The  woman  followed  Helen  up  into  her  room— closing 
the  door  of  the  chamber  after  her  as  she  entered ;  and 
Helen  soon  made  up  a  small  bundle,  and  handed  it  to 

her. 

As  the  woman  took  the  bundle,  she  handed  Helen,  in 
return,  a  small  sealed  note,  the  familiar  handwriting  of 
whose  address  caused  a  glow  to  spread  instantly  over  her 
features. 

"  I  will  wait  a  moment,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  half 
smile,  turning  delicately  away,  and  gazing  out  of  the 
window. 

The  note  ran  thus : — 
19 


2l8 


PEMBERTON  J 


,h\ 


4 
iiiii 


"  My  Sweetest  and  Dearest — 

'■  You  may  trust  the  bearer  of  this,  who  is  called  Cap- 
tain Fanny,  implicitly.  She  has  a  message  fur  you.  I 
am  not  able,  for  it  would  not  be  wise,  to  write  nnu  h  rela- 
tive to  our  private  affairs — for  this  letter  may  perhaps  be 
read  by  strangers.  I  am  very  well,  however — and  hope 
you  will  be  able  to  assure  me,  in  return,  that  the  dearest 
girl  in  the  world  is  as  well  as  she  is  beautiful.  Believe  me 
ever  and  eternally  your  own  A." 

"Whagave  you  this?"  said  Helen,  after  thrusting  the 
note  into  her  bosom — looking  attentively  into  the  woman's 
face. 

"  Captain  Andry  "—in  a  low  voice. 

•'  The  note  you  gave  me  speaks  of  a  Captain  Fanny." 

"lam  her." 

"A  captain?" 

"  They  call  me  captain,"  replied  the  woman,  laughing. 
"I  care  not."  « 

"Are  you  a  spy?"  whispered  Helen,  while  her  face 
whitened. 

"  I  am  a  spy,"  returned  the  woman  carelessly.  "  Any- 
thing to  aid  a  good  cause,  your  leddyship  knows." 

"  You  have  a  message  for  me  ?  " 

"I  have.     Will  your  leddyship  lock  the  door?" 

Helen  did  so — and  from  a  pocket  under  her  skirt,  the 
woman  produced  a  medium-sized  pistol.  Helen  saw  it 
was  primed,  and  ready  for  use.  Her  visitor  then  by  a 
considerable  exertion  of  strength,  unscrewed  the  barrel 
about  the  middle,  and  took  from  it  a  long  slug.  This  also 
unscrewed,  and  disclosed  a  cavity  which  was  filled  with  a 
roll  of  thin  paper,  closely  written  in  a  very  small  but  clear 
handwriting. 

"You  see,"  said  the  woman,  "if  I  am  taken,  or  fear 


* 


•W  '>ij,"!j^-'f 


'  ij-igjii^f™ij 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


319 


who  is  called  Cap- 
lessage  for  you.  I 
to  write  miu  h  rcla- 
tcr  may  perhaps  be 
lowovcr — and  hope 
n,  that  the  dearest 
lutiful.  Believe  me 
A." 

,  after  thrusting  the 
;lyinto  the  woman's 


.  Captain  Fanny." 

e  woman,  laughing. 

;len,  while  her  face 

carelessly.     "  Any- 
ihip  knows." 

I  the  door?" 
mder  her  skirt,  the 
stol.  Helen  saw  it 
;r  visitor  then  by  a 
iscrewed  the  barrel 
ong  slug.  This  also 
lich  was  filled  with  a 
,  very  small  but  clear 

I  am  taken,  or  fear 


being  taken,  if  I  can  only  git  a  chance  to  discharge  my 
pistol,  tlicy  may  search  me  after  that  as  much  as  they 
plase." 

Helen  took  the  paper.     "  Take  a  seat,"  said  she,  "  till 
I  have  time  to  glance  over  it." 

While  Helen  is  glancing  over  her  note,  let  us  say  a 
word  or  two  relative  to  her  visitor.  In  the  first  place, 
Captain  Fanny— though  Helen  did  not  know  it,  and  never 
knew  it — was  not  a  woman,  but  a  man.  Francis  Malone 
was  one  of  .those  curious  beings,  who  delight  in  disguises, 
merely  for  the  sake  of  the  disguise  and  the  deception. 
As  he  was  rather  under  the  usual  size,  and  slightly  though 
strongly  made,  with  a  frame  tough  and  elastic  as  whale- 
bone, and  as  he  also  was  naturally  almost  destitute  of  a 
beard,  his  most  frequent  disguise  was  that  of  a  woman. 

He  was  well-looking,  with  blue  eyes  and  sandy  hair,  and 
was  thus  enabled  to  personate  not  only  a  woman,  but  a 
young  and  pretty  one.  Many  were  the  flirtations  which 
he  had  indulged  in  when  thus  disguised,  and  great  was  the 
help  which  his  feminine  attire  afforded  him  in  his  frequent 
journeys  between  the  British  and  the  Continental  camps. 
A  perfect  mimic,  and  able  to  imitate  the  feminine  voice 
and  characteristics  as  one  to  the  manner  born,  Fanny  Ma- 
lone—or  Captain  Fanny,  as  the  supposed  woman  was  fre- 
quently termed— was  a  universal  favorite.  She  even  stood 
high  among  the  rude  soldiery  of  both  camps,  for,  as  may 
be  surmised,  however  she  might  flirt,  her  virtue  was  above 
suspicion. 

But  not  only  did  she  deceive  the  soldiers,  Captain  Fanny 
also  deceived  the  generals.  All  thought  to  the  last  that 
she  was  a  woman.  Washington,  Sir  William  Howe,  Sir 
Henry  Clinton,  and  their  respective  officers  attached  to 
the  secret  service,  were  all  deceived  in  this  respect.     And 


230 


PEMIIERTON  ; 


^'\' 


1 1 


there  is  no  doubt  tliat  AndrC"  was  also.  For  Fanny  never 
forgot  herself— and  her  ai  ling  was  i)erfc(t. 

IJut  even  more  eurioas  still,  Caiitain  Fanny  deceived 
both  [larties  as  to  her  integrity.  She  professed  the  utmost 
loyalty  to  one  side,  the  most  devoted  patriotism  to  tlie 
oilier;  but  \he  truth  was,  .she  served  and  betrayed  both 
alike,  except  as  personal  preferences  sometimes  influenced 
her  actions. 

In  flict,  Francis  Malone  was  one  of  those  men  who  cared 
nothing  for  the  principles  involved  in  the  contest.  He 
did  not  care  a  ])arti(  le  which  army  lj  :ceeded.  His  only 
preference  was  that  the  war  shoulil  go  on ;  for  he  liked  the 
business  of  a  spy  in  itself,  and  he  found  it  very  profitable. 
The  Slates  might  be  poor,  but  Washin^^'ton  never  thought 
of  offering  him  Continental  money.  The  British  generals 
had  plenty  of  gold,  and  they  paid  liberally.  He  evidently 
thought  the  whole  contest  a  stupendous  joke;  and  he 
fooled  each  party  to  the  top  of  his  humor. 

But  how  could  he  do  this?  By  never  betraying  any 
great  secret  of  eithe.-  party,  and  by  conveying  to  each 
respectively  a  large  amount  of  second-rate  and  yet  useful 
information.  It  required  adroitness ;  he  gloried  in  pos- 
sessing it.  It  required  an  infinite  amount  of  plausible 
lying  ;  he  had  not  the  least  regard  for  veracity.  And  any 
one  who  has  had  experience  of  such  a  natural  liar,  knows 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  convict  a  man  of  false- 
hood, who  never  scruples  to  utter  not  only  the  first  lie, 
but  one  hundred  more,  if  necessary,  to  substantiate  that 
first. 

Every  case  has  its  exceptions.  Francis  Malone  had  his. 
He  had  no  comprehension  of  great  principles  ;  but  he  had 
a  keen  sense  of  gratitude.  In  certain  cases  where  an  im- 
portant favor  had  been  done  him,  the  Captain  was  the 
soul  of  truth  and  honor.     He  would  not  deceive  nor  betray 


OR,    ONK    HUNURKD    YEARS   AGO. 


Ml 


o.     For  Fanny  never 

:rfcct. 

tain  Fanny   deceived 

_•  lirolessed  the  utmost 

ed  patriotism  to  tlie 

d  and  betrayed  l)oiii 

boiuetiuies  influenced 

'  those  men  who  cared 

in  the  contest.  He 
ji  ;cceded.  His  only 
1  on ;  for  he  liked  the 
md  it  very  profitable. 
in[,'tc)n  never  thought 

The  British  generals 
Drally.  He  evidently 
ndous  joke;  and  he 
unior. 

never  betraying  any 
y  conveying  to  each 
nd-rate  and  yet  useful 
i ;  he  gloried  in  pos- 

amcunt  of  plausible 
»r  veracity.     And  any 

a  natural  liar,  knows 
ivict  a  man  of  false- 
not  only  the  first  lie, 
',  to  substantiate  that 

■ancis  Malone  had  his. 
jrinciples  ;  but  he  had 
in  cases  where  an  im- 
,  the  Captain  was  the 
not  deceive  nor  betray 


his  benefactor,  while  he  would  serve  him  to  the  utmost  of 
lus  i..)wer.  lliis  was  Captain  Fanny's  sound  point  amid 
so  much  rottenness,  if  we  may  call  that  rottenness  win.  h 
from  liie  Captain's  point  of  view,  was  merely  harmless  and 
profitable  joking  with  a  pack  of  lunatics,  who  had  gone 
crazy  to  the  point  of  figiuing,  upon  a  (luestion  ol  no 
earthly  conscciuence  whatever. 

When  Helen  had  finished  the  reading  of  this  second 
and  more  important  letter,  she  placed  it  carefully  in  a 
small  drawer,  under  lock  and  key,  and  turned  again  to  her 

visitor. 

"  I  am  told  that  you  can  be  trusted  with  perfect  confi- 
dence?" 

"  It  is  so.     I  shall  niver  betray  Captain  Andry.     Or  the 

Cause,"  added  she. 

"  Have  you  known  Captain  Andr6  long?" 

"  No;  only  a  short  time." 

"  I  thought  you  spoke  as  if  you  knew  him  well."  Helen 
was  not  in  the  least  suspicious,  but  something  in  the  tone 
with  which  Andr6'sname  had  been  mentioned,  had  caught 
her  ear  as  implying  a  certain  warmth  of  feeling. 

«« Captain  Andry  once  did  us  a  great  favor;  and  I  niver 
forgit  favors.  Did  you  ever  hear  him  tell  of  a  boy  he 
saved  from  Captain  Cunningham's  clutches?" 

"  The  boy  who  was  captured  with  a  party  of  rebel  sol- 
diers?" 

"The  same  boy.  He  was  my  brither,  my  leddy.  I, 
nor  none  of  us,  will  ever  forgit  it.     Niver  I" 

Helen's  face  lightened.  "  I  feel  we  may  trust  you  en- 
tirely, my  good  girl,"  said  she. 

•'To  the  black  death!"  replied  Captain  Fanny  ear- 
nestly. 

«'I  cannot  answer  this  letter  at  once.  Suppose  you 
bring  home  those  articles  in  three  or  four  days.     Ask  to 


ggg  rrMiiKKTON ; 

see  me.     CoiiUl  1  find  yoii  at  tlic  washerwoman's,  if  I 

waiUtU  you?'  ..     »,  ,  r 

"  Vcs.     I'm  boarding  llicrc.     Abk  lor  Mr.  Maloiic,  cf 

I  doll' I  ( omc  U)  tiic  door." 

•'Mr.  Maloiic?" 

"  Yes;  I  dress  iii»  like  a  man  gincraliy  in  I'hiladclfy." 

•'  It  must  be  very  uiipleasimt  to  you." 

"  Yes,  it  is  ratlier  onpleasant,  but  I'm  used  to  it.  I 
tluiik,  my  leddy,  wlu<ii  you  see  me,  you'll  own  I  am  a 
preltv  iKite-looking  boy." 

"  i  tliink  you  would  be  very  good-looking— for  a  man  ; 
for  yoii  are  really  (luite  a  i)retty  girl." 

Caiitain   Fanny   laughed— "  So  the  soldiers  often   tell 


me 


'•You  should  be  very  careful  how  you  trust  yourself 
about  the  cami.s,"  said  Helen  gravely,  with  a  world  of 
warning  and  c:aution  in  her  tones. 

"  I  am,  my  leddy,  very  careful  indeed.  We  poor  girls 
haven't  much  but  our  repitation,  and  when  that's  gone, 
there's  nothing  lift."  and  the  girl  put  a  corner  of  her 
check  apron  to  her  face,  to  hiile,  as  Helen  thought,  her 
modest  blushes-but  really  to  conceal  her  smiling,  for  the 
whole  scene  was  perfectly  delightful  to  Captain  Fanny. 

Fanny  then  took  up  the  bundle,  and  making  a  very  ex- 
cellent curtsey  indeed  as  she  left  the  room,  took  her  way 
down  stairs,  and  out  of  the  house. 

Helen  watched  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  until  she  heard 
the  front  door  close  upon  her  visitor,  and  then  returned  to 
her  room.  Locking  the  door,  and  unlocking  the  drawer, 
she  took  from  it  Andr6's  letter.  But  before  she  set  herself 
to  giving  it  another  and  more  careful  perusal,  she  took  the 
first  note  from  her  bosom,  and  having  read  and  re-read 
that,  and  pressed  it  again  and  again  to  her  lips,  in  a  fashion 
not  uncommon  with  very  impassioned  lovers,  she  placed 


OR,   ONE   IIIJNDKF.D   VFARS   Ar;o, 


393 


c  washerwoman's,  if  I 
^iik  for  Mr,  Malonc,  cf 

cnilly  in  rhilaclclfy." 

>ou." 

hut   I'm  used  to  it.     I 

lie,  you'll  own  I  am  a 

d-looking — for  a  man ; 

■1." 

llic  soldiers  often   tell 

how  you  trust  yourself 
avely,  with  a  world  of 

ndecd.  Wc  poor  girls 
and  when  that's  gone, 

irl  put  a  corner  of  her 
as  Helen  thought,  her 

:eal  her  smiling,  for  the 

ul  to  Captain  Fanny. 

,  and  making  a  very  ex- 
thc  room,  took  her  way 

he  stairs,  until  she  heard 
tor,  and  then  returned  to 
d  unlocking  the  drawer, 
3ut  before  she  set  herself 
,»ful  perusal,  she  took  the 
laving  read  and  re-read 
in  to  her  lips,  in  a  fashion 
oned  lovers,  she  placed 


it  in       box,  sweetly  scenttMl,  among  a  nuinbir  of  others 
wliirl)  evidently  were  written  in  tlie  same  griK  i;tiil  hand. 

The  otiier  and  lonf;er  letter,  which  she  then  sat  down 
to  consider,  read  as  follows : — 

"  Light  of  my  eyes,  will  you  pardon  me  for  writing  you 
a  mere  i)usiness  letter?  Hut  it  is  in  a  case  of  the  utmost 
importance  to  the  good  cause.  We  are  in  some  per|)lex- 
ity,  and  I  thouglit  perhaps  you  coulil  aid  us.  Sir  H.  C. 
has  rc(  ently  receiveil  several  anonymous  letters  from  P. — 
and  he  is  very  anxious  to  know  who  is  the  writer.  All  tlie 
signs  point  to  one  man.  You  remember  tiie  name  of  tiiat 
girl  you  told  me  you  disliked  so  at  Betiileiiem.  If  ho  is 
the  man,  he  is  worth  winning  back  to  his  allegiance.  He 
may  become  perhaps  a  second  Cleneral  Monk,  and  put  an 
end  to  this  unhappy  war  between  brethren.  Monk  was 
made  Duke  of  Albemarle.  The  man,  or  u  en,  who  cin 
restore  peace  and  union  to  the  Kingdom,  shall  surely  not 
miss  of  their  reward.  Th.;  Colonies  shall  have  a  Parlia- 
ment like  England,  including  a  House  of  Lords,  men  en- 
nobled for  their  services  to  the  King  ;  and  a  Viceroy,  with 
kingly  state.  You  need  not  hesitate  to  name  these  re- 
wards, if  he  is  the  man — nor  he  to  name  them  in  confi- 
dence to  others.  At  the  first  great  success  of  tiie  King's 
arms,  this  plan  will  be  annoimced.  Everything  will  be 
granted  to  the  Colonies  but  Independence.  Everything 
must  be  done  to  keep  the  Kingdom  united,  and  to  defeat 
Roman  Catholic  France,  the  great  foe  of  England  and  the 
Protestant  faith. 

"  Sweet,  you  know  I  am  ambitious — but  it  is  not  for  my- 
self alone — it  is  for  you  also,  my  peerless  one  I  Perhaps 
I  may  yet  take  my  seat  in  an  American  House  ot  Lords, 
and  be  able  to  place  a  coronet  on  your  beautiful  brow. 
What  is  life,  without  some  great  aim  ?    Of  course  we  may 


n ! 


S, 


m 


224 


PEMBERTON  ; 


faii_i)u(  life  is  Signified  and  ennobled,  even  if  Fame  and 
Station  are  not  won. 

"  I  know  you  will  as  gladly  aid  in  the  work,  as  take 
your  part  in  the  reward — and  enjoy  the  reward  the  more, 
because  you  have  thus  aided  in  achieving  it. 

"I  would  not  expose  you  to  danger,  but  there  can  be 
no  risk  for  you,  if  you  are  prudent— and,  at  the  very  worst, 
there  is  only  the. risk,  of  your  being  sent  into  our  lines, 
where  you  would  find  a  hearty  welcome  from  all  loyal 
souls— to  say  nothing  of  my  private  longing  to  see  you. 

"As  to  the  rightfulness  of  a  man's  coming  back  to  his 
allegiance,  who  can  doubt  it?     General  Charles  Lee  went 
over  from  the  King's  service  to  the  rebels,  on  condition 
that  they  should  make  up  the  loss  of  his  commission  to 
him;  and  their  Congress  did  it, and  made  him  next  highest 
to  Washington.     If  a  loyal  man  can  thus  become  a  rebel, 
how  much  more  rightfully  can  a  repentant  rebel  become 
loyal!      These   and  other  considerations,  will  doubtless 
occur  to  your  own  quick  wit — as  also  the  way  in  which 
"  you  had  better  approaci)  the  mnn.     If  it  is  the  one  I  sup- 
pose, in  writing  me  call  hvm  Vasa.     Answer  by  the  bearer 
as  soon  as  convenient.     Use  no  more  names  ire  writing 
than  are  absolutely  necessary— though    our   precautions 
against  discovery  are  I  think  admirable.     Your  loving  A. 
"  Burn  this  letter  as  soon  as  you  have  carefully  read  it. 
Of  course  speak  of  it  to  no  one.     Be  wise  as  a  serpenc,  as 
you  are  innocent  as  a  dove.     Again  farewell,  sweetest  and 
dearest!"  '      ^ 


Three  times  did  Helen  peruse  this  letter,  until  every 
line  and  wofd  were  fully  impressed  upon  her  memory. 
Then  ordering  a  light  to  be  brought  up,  which  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  doing,  for  sealing-wax  was  then  commonly 
used  in  sealing  le   its,  and  she  had  several  correspondents 


obled,  even  if  Fame  and 

d  in  the  work,  as  take 
oy  the  reward  the  more, 
;hicving  it. 

anger,  but  there  can  be 
t — and,  at  the  very  worst, 
ing  sent  into  our  lines, 

welcome  from  all  loyal 
ite  longing  to  see  you. 
lan's  coming  back  to  his 
jeneral  Charles  Lee  went 

the  rebels,  on  condition 
)ss  of  his  commission  to 
id  made  him  next  highest 
can  thus  become  a  rebel, 

repentant  rebel  become 
[derations,  will  doubtless 
-as  also  the  way  in  which 
ti.  If  it  is  the  one  I  sup- 
ia.  Answer  by  the  bearer 
10  more  names  in'  writing 
-though  our  precautions 
mirable.  Your  loving  A. 
ou  have  carefully  read  it. 
Be  wise  as  a  serpenc,  as 
gain  farewell,  sweetest  and 


ise  this  letter,  until  every 
essed  upon  her  memory, 
ught  up,  which  she  was  in 
[-wax  was  then  commonly 
had  several  correspondents 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


!25 


among  her  old  school-mates  in  various  parts  of  the  coun- 
try, she  committed  tlie  hazardous  epistle  to  the  flames. 

This  done,  Helen  sat  down  to  think.  The  mission  en- 
trusted to  her  was  not  entirely  pleasant,  for  it  involved 
secrecy  and  finesse,  and  her  natural  disposition  was  so 
frank  and  open,  that  anything  that  sa\  ored  of  concealment 
was  distasteful  to  her.  But  not  for  a  moment  did  she  hesi- 
tate on  that  account.  Neither  did  a  thought  of  there 
being  anything  wrong  in  the  trust  confided  to  her,  take 
definite  shape  in  her  mind.  She  accepted  it  just  in  the 
light  that  her  lover  had  presented  it :  a  repentant  man  was 
anxious  to  return  to  his  duty,  a  distracted  kingdom  was  to 
be  reunited  on  liberal  terms,  the  sacred  cause  of  Protest- 
antism was  to  be  maintained  against  its  ancient  enemy. 
That  in  aiding  and  encouraging  a  repentant  rebel  to  return 
to  his  duty  to  his  King,  she  would  be  acting  a  dishonora- 
ble part,  was  an  idea  that  never  even  entered  her  mind. 
There  might  be  some  risk  in  doing  so,  as  she  might  thus 
incur  the  enmity  of  bad  or  misguided  men,  but  Danger 
went  often  in  this  world  hand  in  hand  with  Duty. 

Then  she  sho'ild  be  aiding  her  lover  in  his  plans,  his 
duties,  his  ambitions;  and  her  eyes  kindled,  and  her 
cheeks  glowed.  This  consideration  would  have  swept 
away  any  small  conscientious  obstacles,  if  such  there  were. 
And,  besides,  she  had  her  own  ambition.  She  would 
rather,  of  course,  marry  John  Andr6,  plain  captain  though 
he  was,  than  a  King's  son  ;  but  still  she  fully  sympathized 
with  his  craving  for  distinction  and  glory.  That  thirst 
for  Fame  which  is  "  the /Vz^/ infirmity  of  noble  minds," 
she  was  not  above,  for  him,  however  little  comparatively 
she  cherished  it  for  herself.  To  see  him  take  that  high 
place  to  which  his  natural  make  and  qualities  entitled  him, 
and  she  by  his  side,  a  coronet,  perhaps,  as  he  had  said, 
encircling  her  brow,  this  would  be  worth  toiling  and 


n,i 


PF.MBERTON  ", 

The  narrow  walls  of  Helen's  cham 
.    ,  .    .  -  -  „oionp    tie  ulaii 


226 

s„i,i„6  for  indeed  1  The  na^ow  --»— ■;,;;,;;;;„ 
U,.  a,,  »ho  >lu»  mu^ed,  "'^^^"^^  „f„„„,  and  silken 
Onaker  furniture  clranged  u  to  Co  "y 


roirderie  -ved^  i"  .— ^  -*"  ^^  "='  """^ 
was  Helen  Andre!  ^  ^^^j^.  ^i^jie? 

..Wi,y,  Helen.  »'"=  XKMyo.rwere  out,  and  have 
Dinner  is  almost  ready.     I  tl  out  >  y  .__  „ 

been  sitting  in  ''«  V^°;n^„':7'°f«  -"  »  ""''  " 
Helen  came  back  to  her  or        ^  .,j  ^^^^  ^gen 

Isabella  entered  -^J ^  ^ pIctlTt  work,  is  it  not." 
building  castles  in  Spain,  bi^.  ^;,eumstances, 

.<!   think   it   quite   ^''^'''''''\2S\y      "I  wish   this 
„  •»  rpnlied  her  sister  lovingly.        J- 
pretty  one,     repUea  n  ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^ 

Helen  was  rather  «^";j'"t.o  Pembertou  may  sho» 

.<  Arthur,  was  not  G««eralLee  ^  ^.^^^ 

service,  before  he  took  up  arms  under  ine 
the  King?" 

"  "'^  '^^'"  r.  nar^^  to  compensatc  him  for  his 

..  Did  not  Congress  agree  to  comp 
pecuniary  loss  in  making  the  change? 

<<They  did."  ,       ,,t 

.« Was  it  honorable  in  him  and  them  f  ..  j  ^^ave 

,  ^,.rr'  <;aid  Petnberton  smiUng.        i  ^^""^ 

"  What's  up  now?    said  rem  months." 

'°'.:"^rifyou™eantoask»h..herlc^o„^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
S;:r.Cn.::t^.  «r:„::r^«  mto  .KeKin,.  .rvlce 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


227 


walls  oi  Helen's  cham- 
into  a  palace,  the  plain 
astly  mirrors,  and  silken 
tues,  and  through  lofty 
ly  attire,  and  her  name 

ou  been  all  this  while? 
lit  you  were  out,  and  have 

;  for  you  to  come  in." 
'nary  life  with  a  start,  as 
;tcdher.     "I  have  been 
feasant  work,  is  it  not?" 
hi   your   circumstances, 
lovingly.     "I  wish  thi^ 
for  your  sake,  ma  belle 
lown  to  dinner." 
led  the  remainder  of  that 
t  to  Pemberton  may  show 
thoughts  were, 
.e  an  officer  in  the  British 
inder  the  Colonies,  against 

to  compensate  him  for  his 
hange?" 

nd  them?" 

mberton  smiling.     "I  have 

ilitics  for  six  months." 
Arthur;  I  am  simply  asking 

vhether  I  consider  Lee  acted 

,  us,  1  answer,  that  I  do  not 
•ring  into  the  King's  service 


binds  a  man  forever  after,  so  that  he  can  never  again  have 
a  mind  and  judgment  of  liis  own.  Lcc  thought  the  mother 
country  wrong,  and  he  preferred  to  fight  on  the  side  of  the 
Colonies.  Therefore  he  resigned  his  commission,  gave  up 
his  half-pay,  and  was  paid  in  return  thirty  tliousand  dol- 
lars, and  made  second  in  command  in  the  Continental 
army.     It  strikes  me  that  it  was  all  plain  sailing." 

«  Yes— but  it  seems  he  really  lost  nothing  by  the  trans- 
action." 

"  I,  myself,"  said  Pemberton,  "would  have  liked  the 
look  of  the  thing  better,  if  he  had  made  no  stipulations 
with  Congress;  but  this,  after  all,  perhaps,  is  a  mere  mat- 
ter of  taste." 

"  Did  not  the  British  officers  call  him  a  traitor?" 

«Yes — but  that  charge  would  not  hold.  For,  when 
they  had  him  a  prisoner,  they  forbore  to  press  it.  You 
see,  Helen,  the  point  was  this— he  resigned  his  commis- 
sion and  gave  up  his  pay,  before  taking  service  with  us. 
If  he  had  not,  I  would  not  have  given  much  for  his  life." 

"  I  think  that  shows  the  scrupulous  care  with  which  the 
King's  officers  discriminate  in  all  cases  involving  military 
honor,"  said  Helen.  "And  this  was  a  case  in  which  a 
loyal  gentleman  had  become  a  rebel." 

"  It  certainly  was  a  proof  of  the  good  sense  of  the  Brit- 
ish officers,  Helen.  And  I  think  this  is  a  ground  that  we 
can  both  unite  on.  You  know  I  dislike  to  differ  with  you, 
ma  belle  Helene." 

"  And  I  with  you,  Arthur.  I  don't  know  what  I  would 
not  give,  if  you  only  thought  in  this  matter  as  I  do.  And 
there  is  Bella,  too"— and  Helen  put  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes,  for  she  indeed  felt  very  sadly  about  it  at  times. 

"No  matter,  Helen,  sweet,"  said  Isabella,  passing  her 
arm  around  her  and  kissing  her;  "all  will  come  right, 
some  time.     And  if  we  do  not  see  alike  in  this  matter, 


\k 


228  pemberton; 

thai  is  no  rcxson  why  Arthur  and  1  shouUl  not  love  you 

anel  John  better  than  anybody  else  in  the  wide  world. 

And  Helen  returned  the  warm,  sisterly  kiss,  and  was 
quieted  for  the  time,  if  not  entirely  comforted. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HELEN    AND    ARNOLD. 

Fair  UAy,  you  are  bold ;  and,  by  Saint  Judas, 
You  need  be  bold  as  slic  wbu  slew  Marat, 
To  come  on  sucii  an  errand. 

In  a  room  on  the  ^rst  floor  of  his  handsome  house  in 
Market  Street,  the  same  room  in  which  Isabella  had  ob- 
tained the  pass  from  Sir  William  Howe-and  which  had 
been  elegantly  fitted  up  for  his  office  and  hbrary-^at 
General  Benedict  Arnold. 

\ffairs  had  not  improved  with  General  Arnold  since 
his  conversation  with    Mr.   Pemberton.      Congress   had 
done  as  he  had  been  forewarned— had  refused  to  adopt  the 
favorable  report  of  its  own  investigating  committee,  and 
had  directed  the  Commander-in-Chief  to  institute  a  Court 
Martial.     Arnold's  marriage,  however,  already  arranged 
for  had  gone  on.     The  beautiful  and  charming  Margaret 
Shippen,  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  best  families  in  the 
State,  had  become  his  wife.     That  he  loved  her  with  all 
the  ardor  of  his  passionate  nature,  there  is  no  reason  to 
doubt      And  she  loved  and  admired  him-partly  for  him- 
self, and  partly  for  his  high  position  and  his  military  fame. 
The  brave  to  the  end  of  time  will  always  be  admired  by 
the  fair.  >   '" 


I 


lid  1  should  not  love  you 
se  in  the  wide  world." 
m,  sisterly  kiss,  and  was 
ely  comforted. 


OR,    ONF,   HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO. 


229 


LI  V. 

ARNOLD. 

ml,  liy  Saint  Judas, 
rhu  slew  Marat, 
J. 

of  his  handsome  house  in 
in  which  Isabella  had  ob- 
,m  Howe— and  which  had 
liis  office  and  library— sat 

with  General  Arnold  since 
emberton.      Congress   had 
i— had  refused  to  adopt  the 
vestigating  committee,  and 
n-Chief  to  institute  a  Court 
however,  already  arranged 
iful  and  charming  Margaret 
)f  the  best  families  in  the 
That  he  loved  her  with  all 
ture,  there  is  no  reason  to 
imired  him— partly  for  him- 
sition  and  his  military  fame, 
will  always  be  admired  by 


Arnold  had  rented  one  of  the  largest  and  handsomest 
houses  in  the  city,  had  married  a  wife  accustomed  from 
lier  earliest  years  to  luxury  and  expense,  and  was  now  liv- 
ing on  intimate  terms  with  the  highest  and  most  extrava- 
gant circles  of  the  metropolis. 

And  he  had  no  money,  save  his  little  stipend  of  pay, 
and  the  uncertain  profits  of  various  mercantile  specula- 
tions, which  it  was  scarcely  consistent  with  his  military 
position  to  have  anything  to  do  with. 

It  seemed  in  the  very  nature  of  the  man  to  live  showily 
and  extravagantly,  as  if  he  would  dazzle  the  eyes  of  men 
with  his  prodigality,  as  he  had  dazzled  their  imaginations 
with  his  dauntless  and  almost  sui)erhuman  courage. 

But  he  had  no  money. 

Bills  and  impatient  creditors  came  pouring  in  upon  him. 
He  put  them  off  with  stories  of  his  large  claims  upon  Con- 
gress, which  when  settled  would  afford  him  the  means  of 
freeing  himself  from  debt.  But  Congress  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  his  constant  importunities— would  not  even  take  any 
definite  action  upon  his  claims. 

As  Arnold  sat  this  day  in  his  study,  and  mused  upon 
these  things,  his  thoughts,  for  a  newly  made  bridegroom, 
were  dismal  enough. 

"Was  it  for  this  he  had  exposed  his  life  on  countless 
occasions— stormed  the  barriers  of  Quebec,  fought  his 
galleys  on  the  lake,  faced  the  leaden  storms  and  very 
whirlwind  of  war  at  Bemis's  Heights  ?  Granting  that  he 
had  been  careless  in  his  accounts,  had  made  entries  per- 
haps not  entirely  justifiable — he  had  given  also  of  his  own 
services  with  a  careless  and  lavish  hand.  Similar  services 
often  had  been  recompensed  by  kings,  with  the  gifts  of 
titles  and  large  estates— but  Congress  haggled  over  a  few 
paltry  thousands,  in  the  sum  which  was  due  him." 

And  then  his  thoughts  reverted  to  those  promotions  of 


20 


230 


PEMBERTON ] 


^ 


Others  over  his  head,  which  always  inflamca  his  proud 
spirit  to  the  ut.nost.  St.  C'lair-what  had  St.  Clair  done? 
Stirling-what  had  he  done?  that  they  should  be  preferred 
before  him.  What  ha.l  any  of  them  done,  to  entitle  them 
to  stand  even  upon  his  level? 

A  gentle  tap  was  heanl  at  the  door.  "  Come  in  !  he 
cried,  without  rising  from  his  seat. 

The  door  opened.  "  I  called  to  see  Mrs.  Arnold,  Gen- 
eral, and  finding  she  w:is  not  in,  concluded  to  wait  for 
her  a  little  while.  The  servant  said  you  were  in  the 
library,  and  I  had  the  unpardonable  assurance,  you  see,  to 
beard  the  lion  in  his  den."  •  ,  ,     <■ 

It  was  Helen  Graliam  that  spoke,  and  at  the  sight  of 
her,  the  General  sprang  up,  and  gallantly  handed  her  to  a 
chair  Helen  had  been  one  of  the  bridesmaids  at  the 
wedding,  being  on  quite  familiar  terms  with  Miss  bhip- 

pen.  ,,      . , 

"My  dear  Miss  Hel-n,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  said 
Arnold.  "  It  was  like  you  to  drop  in  upon  me  here,  and 
cheer  me  up  a  little." 

"  Cheer  you  up  !  "  replied  Helen,  opening  her  eyes  as 
if  wonder-stricken.  "What  treason  to  love  and  the  honey- 
moon !"  ,        ,  •      n     T)   4. 

"  Ah  Miss  Helen,  you  ladies  think  that  love  is  all.  But 
here  am'  I,  a  disabled  soldier,  which  is  bad  enough-await- 
ing a  Court  Martial,  not  from  the  red-coats,  which  would 
be  very  natural,  one  would  think,  considering  the  in- 
jury I  have  done  them,  but  from  my  own  ungrateful  coun- 

*' Arnold's  face  flushed-he  could  not  talk  calmly  upon 
this  subject  even  to  a  lady,  nor  avoid  talking  upon  it. 
<•  Perhaps  if  you  had  been  sen-ing  the  King,  instead  of 
"^  the  Colonies,  you  would  have  experienced  different  treat- 
ment," rejoined  Helen. 


.=*^ 


OR,    ONE   IH.NPUF.D   YEARS   ACQ. 


231 


lys  inflamca  his  proud 
■hat  had  St.  Clair  done? 
tlicy  should  he  preferred 
:m  done,  to  entitle  them 

loor.     "Come  in!"  he 

o  see  Mrs.  Arnold,  Gen- 

,  concluded  to  wait  for 

said    you  were    in  the 

jle  assurance,  you  see,  to 

)ke,  and  at  the  sight  of 

rallantly  handed  her  to  a 

the  bridesmaids  at  the 

ir  terms  with  Miss  Ship- 

ilighted  to  see  you,"  said 
3p  in  upon  me  here,  and 

len,  opening  her  eyes  as 
on  to  love  and  the  honey- 
think  that  love  is  all.  But 
ich  is  bad  enough — await- 
le  red-coats,  which  would 
link,  considering  the  in- 
i  my  own  ungrateful  coun- 

iild  not  talk  calndy  upon 
ivoid  talking  upon  it. 
ving  the  King,  instead  of 
cperienced  different  treat- 


"  I  have  heard  that  you  were  a  little  of  a  Tory,  Miss 
Helen." 

"  ir  you  mean  by  a  Tory,  a  loyal  woman,  I  am  all  a 
Tory,  General.  And  I  only  regret  tliat  so  brave  a  man  as 
you  are  is  not  also  on  the  right  side." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  a  good  deal  better  for  me  finan- 
cially, if  1  were,"  rej.lied  the  General  bitterly.  "  1  do 
not  think  any  government  on  earth,  with  tlie  exception  of 
this  Rump  Congress,  would  have  the  meanness  to  treat  a 
faitlilul  soldier  as  I  have  been  treated." 

"  Wliy  then  do  you  submit  to  it?"  asked  Helen,  lower- 
ing her  voice.  "  You  know  how  a  Rum})  Parliament  was 
adroitly  overturned  by  a  man  not  so  brave  and  not  more 
influential  than  you.  Why  do  you  not  give  peace  to  this 
distracted  country,  preserve  the  Kingdom,  and  win  for 
yourself  the  most  glorious  name  on  this  American  Conti- 
nent ?     I  ask  you  why?" 

Arnold  gazed  intently  at  her  for  a  moment  without  re- 
plying. He  seemed  to  feel  that  the  conversation  had  en- 
tered upon  dangerous  ground.  He  knew  what  in  his 
matlness  he  had  already  done,  and  he  knew  not  whether 
this  was  a  simple,  natural  conversation,  or  a  lure.  If  the 
latter,  who  was  the  fowler,  and  on  which  side  of  the  con- 
test did  he  stand  ? 

Opening  a  drawer  in  the  table  by  his  side,  he  took  from 
it  a  large,  horseman's  pistol.  Then  he  fixed  his  eyes 
sternly  on  his  visitor,  and  said  in  a  cold,  ominous  voice : 
"  About  a  year  ago,  Miss  Helen  Graham,  a  man  dared 
to  talk  to  me,  as  you  are  talking  now.  Do  you  know  the 
answer  I  made  him  ?  I  said  not  a  word.  But  I  took  otit 
this  pistol,  cocked  it  as  I  do  now,  and  levelled  it  directly 
at  his  forehead." 

As  Arnold  said  this  he  levelled  the  pistol  at  the  smooth 
white  brow  of  the  woman  before  him.     Helen's  cheek 


232 


PEMnF.RTON 


paled,  and  her  heart  beat  a.s  if  it  must  be  licard,  but  she 
blenched  not  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  line  of  the  barrel, 
and  her  flice  assumed  that  firm,  undaunted  look  wluch 
men  of  her  race  had  worn  in  the  stormy  centuries  before, 
in  battle  and  on  the  scaffold. 

Still  holding  the  pistol  thus  pointed,  and  with  his  finger 
playing  near  the  trigger,  Arnold  continued  sternly : 

"He  soon  understood  that  hint,  and  slunk  from  the 
room  like  a  cowed  spaniel." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Helen  scornfully.  "  But  he  must  have 
been  of  some  common  strain,  and  not  a  Graham.  I  really 
think  lean  see  the  ball  in  that  pistol,"  and  she  leaned 
forward,  and  put  one  of  her  eyes  to  the  terrible  muzzle. 

Arnold  uncocked  the  weapon,  and  laid  it  deliberately 
back  in  the  drawer.  "  Whatever  else  you  niay  be,  Miss 
Helen,  at  least  you  are  no  coward." 

"  Nor  tattler  either,  if  I  am  a  woman.  I  remember  well 
a  story  my  father  once  told  in  my  hearing.  He  said  that 
when  General  Monk  was  meditating  his  great  project— 
'  honest  George  Monk,'  he  said  the  soldiers  called  him— 
his  brother  came  to  see  him  with  a  message  from  the  King. 
'Have  you  spoken  to  any  one  else  on  this  subject?'  in- 
quired Monk.  '  Only,'  replied  his  brother,  '  to  your  chap- 
lain, in  whom  I  know  you  have  the  greatest  faith.'  Monk 
said  nothing,  but  it  was  enough  ;  he  listened  no  further  to 
what  his  brother  had  to  say,  but  changed  the  conversation 
to  unimportant  matters.  That  anecdote  I  shall  never  for- 
get.  If  I  had  a  message  for  the  King,  I  should  not  prate 
about  it  even  to  his  most  trusted  counsellor." 

Arnold   seemed   lost  in   thought   for  a  few  moments. 
Then  he  said  abruptly :  :     ,  ■ 

"Show  me  your  papers." 

'♦  I  have  no  papers.     I  have  burned  them,  to  avoid  all 
risk— as  I  was  ordered." 


"*«• 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


233 


it  must  be  licard,  but  she 
om  the  line  of  the  barrel, 
n,  unclaunU'il  look  wliich 
e  stormy  centuries  before, 

ointed,  and  with  his  finger 
I  continued  sternly : 
hint,  and  slunk  from  the 

"uUy.  "  But  he  must  have 
d  not  a  Graham.  I  really 
at  pistol,"  and  she  leaned 
s  to  the  terrible  muzzle. 
1,  and  laid  it  deliberately 
rer  else  you  may  be.  Miss 
ird." 

woman.  I  remember  well 
my  hearing.  He  said  that 
iitating  his  great  project— 
,  the  soldiers  called  him — 
:h  a  message  from  the  King. 
;  else  on  this  subject?'  in- 
his  brother,  '  to  your  chap- 
;  the  greatest  faith.'  Monk 
1 ;  he  listened  no  further  to 
It  changed  the  conversation 

anecdote  I  shall  never  for- 
e  King,  I  should  not  prate 
;d  counsellor." 
jught   for  a  few  moments. 


burned  them,  to  avoid  all 


"  Why  should  I  trust  you?" 

"  Uccause,  in  the  first  place,  as  you  see,  I  am  no 
coward." 

"  (;(jod,  so  far ;  I  hate  cowards  1" 

"Secondly,  because  I  am  Helen  Graham.  And, 
thirdly,"  and  her  voice  sunk  to  a  whisper— while  maiden 
modesty  caused  it  to  quiver  as  fear  could  not— ♦'  because 
I  am  the  betrothed  of  Captain  Andr6." 

"  Enough  !"  said  Arnokl,  drawing  a  deep  breath.     "  I 
will  not  say  as  yet  what  1  will,  or  what  I  will  not  do.     I 
nuist  take  time  to  consider.     That  I  am  not  pleased  with 
the  way  things  are  going,  every  one  may  know.     That 
this  Congress  is  but  little  better  than  the  Rump  Parlia- 
ment, many  of  our  best  officers  do  not  hesitate  to  say. 
That  the  French  Alliance  is  a  deception  and  a  snare,  the 
whole  country  is  beginning  to  believe.     What  a  perfect 
farce  that  attack  on  Rhode  Island  was !     The  French  are 
fools  on  land,  and  cowards  at  sea.     But  how  to  mend  all 
tliis?_that  is  the  question.     If  Congress  should  come  to 
its  senses,  and  resolve  to  do  me  justice,  I  should  hate  to 
kick  out  of  the  traces.     But  I  will  not  serve  men  who 
seem  to  consider  my  most  important  services  as  worth  no 
recompense.     Such  men  are  neither  fit  nor  able  to  govern. 
It  is  my  nature  to  seek  the  high  rewards  of  life— and  I 
will  have  them !     If  not  from  one  set  of  men,  then  from 
another.     But  I  heard  the  front  door  close  just  now— Mrs. 
Arnold  must  have  come  home." 

The  door  of  the  library  opened,  and  a  very  handsome 
woman  entered— Tarleton  said  afterward,  when  she  went 
to  England,  that  she  was  the  handsomest  woman  in  Eng- 
land. 

"  And  so,  General,  you  are  having  a  nice,  cosey  time 
with  Miss  Helen,  are  you?"  cried  Mrs.  Arnold,  in  a  lively 

tone.     '•  I  must  say  that  I  admire  your  taste." 
20* 


'--.•Jfcs*'- 


234 


VF.MIIF.RTON  ; 


ill 

Hi* 


if 


'<Ycs,  it  is  universally  admitted  now,  Margery,  tliat  I 
have  an  lulmirable  taste  in  women.  Where  have  you  been, 
Sweet?" 

"  Out  shopi)ing  ;  buying  a  lot  of  tnunpery,  as  you  gen- 
tlemen say.  You  look  rosy,  Miss  Helen.  Has  the  (Gen- 
eral been  complimenting  you?  Do  not  believe  him— he 
is,  like  all  military  men,  a  sad  deceiver." 

"Oh,  he  has  been  very  far  from  employing  his  time  so 
pleasantly— to  me — a.s  that.  We  have  had  (juite  a  serious 
talk,  have  we  not,  general?" 

"Never  had  a  more  serious  one  in  my  life,"  replied 

Arnold. 

"What!  it  is  getting  serious  already,  is  it  ?"  exclaimed 
the  gay  young  bride.  "  Ah !  General,  I  thought  you  pro- 
mised me  never  to  flirt  any  more." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ever  promised  you  anything  of 
th'e  kind,  Margery,"  replied  he,  half  smiling,  half  serious. 
"  I  think  there  was  no  necessity  of  my  making  such  a  pro- 
mise. But  as  for  you,  my  Bird  of  Paradise,  what  security 
have  I  that  your  heart  will  not  fly  away  some  day,  and 
leave  me  forsaken  and  disconsolate?" 

"  Now,  hear  the  General,  Helen  !  You  would  not  think 
from  the  way  he  talks,  that  half  the  young  ladies  in  Philly 
were  dying  for  him — and  when  I  carried  off  the  prize, 
could  have  stabbed  me  with  their  knitting  needles." 

And  so  the  happy  bride  rattled  on,  until  Helen,  saying 
that  she  had  stayed  too  long  already,  bade  adieu,  and  took 
her  departure. 

And  Helen  never  walked  with  a  prouder  and  more 
queenly  step  than-  she  did  that  day.  She  had  done  some- 
thing, she  thought,  for  a  good  cause ;  and  more,  she  had 
done  what  it  would  pleaise  her  lover  weli  to  hear.  There 
could  be  little  doubt  but  that  Arnold  was  the  author  of 
those  letters.     If  he  were  not,  he  was  almost  ready  to  enter 


now,  Margery,  tliat  I 
Where  have  you  been, 

tnunpery,  as  you  gen- 

liclon.      lias  the  (len- 

)  not  believe  him — he 

iver." 

employing  his  time  so 

ive  had  (juite  a  serious 

e  in  my  life,"  replied 

ady,  is  it?"  exclaimed 
:ral,  I  thought  you  pro- 
mised you  anything  of 
ilf  smiling,  half  serious, 
my  making  such  a  pro- 
Paradise,  what  security 
[ly  away  some  day,  and 
:?" 

!  You  would  not  think 
e  young  ladies  in  Philly 
I  carried  off  the  prize, 
knitting  needles." 
on,  until  Helen,  saying 
iy,  bade  adieu,  and  took 

I  a  prouder  and  more 
\f.  She  had  done  some- 
ise ;  and  more,  she  had 
er  well  to  hear.  There 
irnold  was  the  author  of 
k'as  almost  ready  to  enter 


OR,    ONF.    HUNURF.D   VFAUS   SCO, 


235 


* 


into  such  a  correspondence.     Nothing  but  su(  h  a  change 
in  the  action  of  Congress  as  was  not  at  all  probable,  would 
prevent  him,  in  case  tlie  Colonial  caii.o  K'^w  no  brighter, 
from  gradually  settling  down  uix.n  tlie  loyal  side.     And 
he  might  l)egin  and   inspire  a  dele,  tion  as  momentous 
in  its  results  as  that  of  General  Monk,  in   the  great  con- 
test between  Charles   the  Second  and  the  Long    Parlia- 
ment. ,  .     1   .  I 
Of  course  I  am  picturing  both  Helen  and  Andre-and 
Arnold  also— as  they  were,  and  in  the  light  of  their  own 
feelings  and  convictions.     I  am  not  representing  Helen 
as  feeling  upbraidings  of  conscience  on  accouiU  of  her 
efforts  to  overthrow  a  cause  which  slie  believed  to  be  un- 
just an.l  wrong-simply  because  she  felt  no  such  ni,bra.d- 
ings  of  conscience.     On  the  contrary,  she  felt  precisely  as 
a  young  lady  on  the  American  side  would  have  felt,  who 
thought  she  could  aid  in  bringing  over  to  her  own  party 
some  influential  British  general.     Even  were  that  general 
Sir  Henry  Clinton  himself,  and  the  result  most  disastrous 
to  the  royal  arms,  and  he  be  rendering  himself  liable  to 
the  charge  of  treason,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  she 
would  suffer  very  greatly  in  her  conscience  on   that  ac- 
count.    In  truth,  it  is  probable  that  in  such  a  very  suppos- 
able  case,   the  young  -rebel"   lady  in  question   would 
rejoice  even  in  proportion  to  the  mischief  she  was  able  to 
work  the  enemy— and  that  her  countrymen  would  hold  her 
forever  afterwards  in  high  esteem,  instead  of  in  detesta- 
tion.                                                                            •  .    t 
In  all  such  cases,  everything  depends  upon  the  point  ot 
view.     From  Helen  and  Andre's  point  of  view,  the  whole 
proceeding  looked  glorious  and  honorable.     Arnold  was 
a  brand  to  be  snatched  from  the  rebel  burning.     And  the 
result  was  to  be  Peace  and  the  lasting  Union  of  the  British 


:''»^ 


3«5  r EMBERTON; 

|,;,„,,iR— on  terms  entirely  satisfactory  and  honorable  to 

tlie  t!i)lonies. 

Of  rourse,  there  was  another  side  to  the  qucst.on-a 
very  weighty  and  powerful,  an.l.  as  it  prove.l,  the  decisive 
side— but  our  concern  is  not  with  that,  just  at  present. 


I 


i 

I.  if!  I 

w 


!    il 


CIIAPTKR  VI. 

CAPTAIN     I-ANNY     AGAIN. 

1  srrvL'  1.0th  siclcn,  an<l,  scrvinR  both,  nm  true 

■\\<  liuili,  (.r  nuithcr,  lit  it  n.in  my  '"""l- 
Ennuuh  r.ir  me  ti.  Ilmvb  n.)  carcUsH  diio 

lUat  wuvild  Lutray  me,  fU...iing  in  the  wind. 

Hf.i  fv  had  her  reply,  which  was  very  adroitly  and  cau- 
tiously worded,  so  as  not  to  compromise  any  one  if  it 
should  tall  into  the  wrong  hands,  fully  prepared  by  the 
time  Captain  1-anny  brought  bark  her  articles  from  the 
washerwoman.  Fortunately,  too,  Isabella  was  out,  Helen 
having  been  indisposed  (to  go  out),  in  anticipation  of  this 
visit,  for  several  days.  She  led  the  seeming  young  woman 
again  up  into  her  chamber,  and  locked  the  door  while 
Fanny  took  out  the  pistol,  and  inserted  the  little  but  im- 
portant roll  of  tissue  paper  in  the  cavity  of  the  leaden 

"^""Suppose  they  suspect  you,  and  take  the  pistol  from 

^°"  I  shall  be  on  the  look-ont  for  the  likes  of  that,"  replied 
Fanny  "  There  is  no  great  harm  done  by  shooting,  you 
know,  so  you  hit  nobody.  And  a  woman,  besidc-s,  my 
leddy,  is  not  expected  sure  to  aim  very  straight.       Fanny 


II 


OR,    (INK    Itl'VORKI)    YKARS   AGO, 


J.17 


ry  and  honoraMc  to 

:  to  the  question— a 
proved,  the  decisive 
Lt,  just  at  prcbciU. 


\  o  A  1  N. 

..tb.nm  true 
my  niiiul, 
*i  uliio 
I  In  the  wind. 

very  adroitly  and  caw- 

)romise  any  one  if  it 

fully  prepared  by  the 

her  articles  from  the 

sabelUi  was  out,  Helen 

in  anticipation  of  this 

seeming  young  woman 

ocked  the  door,  while 

;rted  the  little  but  im- 

e  cavity  of  the  leaden 

i  take  the  pistol  from 

e  likes  of  that,"  replied 
done  by  shooting,  you 
a  woman,  besides,  my 

very  straight."     Fanny 


l.iughcil,  as  if  the  bad  sliuoting  of  thi-  li'malc  sex  was  ratlier 
amusing  to  her. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  warrant  I  i ould  hit  you 
every  time  at  twenty  piies,"  said  llrleii,  wiio,  as  is  the 
fashion  of  liigh-si)iriled  wonien,  was  never  miii  h  disposed 
to  hear  her  sex  in  any  way  disparaged. 

"  And  sure  I'm  not  the  woman  who'd  let  you  try  it," 
rejoined  Fanny,  "it  they  do  call  me  l.'aptain." 

"That  is  a  curious  name  for  a  woman,  espei  ially  one 
so  young  and  good-looking  as  you  are,"  said  Helen. 

"Thanks,  my  leddy  ;  but  it's  you  who  are  the  Ijeautifiil 

crathiire.     They  call  me  t'aptain  because — who  is  that?" 

I'emberton's   voice  was  heard   in  liie  entry,     lie  was 

evidently  going  up  to  hiii  room  in  company  with  another 

gentleman. 

"Do  you  remember,  Arth,  that  visit  you  had  from  a 
Quaker  preacher?"  said  a  loud  voice,  plainly  heard  through 
the  door,  followed  by  hearty  laughter  from  both. 

"It  is  Mr.  I'emberton  and  1-ieutenant  Mftrris,"  said 
Helen  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  thought  so.     The  Liftinant  would  know  me  at  a 
glance.     He   must   not   see   me   here — neither  him   nor 
McLane.     I  will  co-ne  either  .is  a  man  or  as  an  old  woman, 
next  time.     Will  you  know  me  ?" 
"I  think  so." 

"They  have  gone  into  the  opposite  room,  I  heard  the 
door  shut,"  said  Fanny  in  a  whisper.  "  Plaze  look  out, 
and  see  if  the  coast  is  clare." 

Helen  opened  the  door  qilletly  ;  the  loud  conversation, 
accomp.inied  with  louder  laughter,  still  continued  in  the 
oi)posite  room.  Helen  beckoned  to  Fanny  to  come.  But 
the  two  had  just  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  having 
closed  the  door  behind  them,  when  tlue  door  of  Pember- 


238 


PEMBERTON  ; 


ton's  chamber  was  opened  quickly,  and  Morns  came  out, 
walking  as  if  in  a  hurry. 

«  Bcu  your  pardon.  Miss  Helen,  Arthur  said  you  had 
gone  out,"  cried  Philip,  as  he  nearl>  ran  against  her. 
'But  I  am  delighted  to  see  you.  Why,  is  that  you, 
Fanny  ?  What  odd  chance  brought  you  here  ?  added  he, 
evidently  in  very  great  surprise. 

"And  so  you  have  a  personal  acquaintance  with  my 
washerwoman's  servant?"  said  Helen,  covering  her  con- 
fusion as  best  she  might. 

"  Yes  Fanny  and  I  are  old  acquaintances-are  we  not, 
Fanny?"  returned  Morris,  gazing  in  perplexity  from  one 

'°  !.  Wryfwhat  is  going  on  outside  here?"  cried  Pember- 
ton,  opening  the  door  of  his  room,  which  Morns  l^u 
closed  behind  him.     "  I  thought  you  had  gone  out  with 

'''^Hb"  you  "lee  I  have  not,"  answered  Helen,  a  little 
sharply.     "  Or  else  it  is  my  wraith." 

Rannyhad  not  spoken;  but  now  she  said,  "I  have  a 
little  message  for  Mr.  Morris,  Miss  Hilen;  have  you  any 
objection  to  my  giving  it  to  him?" 

-Not  the  least,"  replied  Helen  with  dignity,  as  she 

swept  back  into  her  room.  .    „      -a  i,„ 

Morris  smiled.      "Come  in  here.  Captain,"  said  he 

opening  the  door  of  Pemberton's  room  again.        We  can 

then  sit  down  and  talk  at  our  leisure." 

- 1  suppose  you  are  rather  surprised  to  see  me  here,  Lif- 

tinant?"  said  Fanny,  after  tf  y  had  entered.      • 

"  Well,  rather  1"  ,,  .       , 

-I'm  sure  I  could  aisily  explain  matters,"  continued 

Fanny,  with  an  almost  imperceptible  glance  at  Pemberton^ 
"/Suppose  you  can,"  replied  Morris,     ['^ouot^^d 
-    my  friend  Pemberton  here,  he  is  just  asreliable  as  I  am. 


tJ 


OR,    0\E   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


239 


,  and  Mori  is  came  out, 

1,  Arthur  said  you  had 
nearl)  ran  agauist  her. 
,u.  Why,  is  that  you, 
t  you  here?"  added  he, 

acquaintance  with  my 
elen,  covering  her  con- 

uaintances — are  we  not, 
in  perplexity  from  one 

lehere?"  cried  Pember- 

3om,  which  Morris  had 
you  had  gone  out  with 

mswered  Helen,  a  little 

h." 

low  she  said,  "I  have  a 

ss  Hilen ;  have  you  any 

?" 

len  with  dignity,  as  she 

lere,  Captain,"  said  he, 
i  room  again.     '<Wecan 

sure." 

)rised  to  see  me  here,  Lif- 

had  entered. 

lain  matters,"  continued 
:ible  glance  at  Pemberton. 
[Morris.  "Do  not  mind 
s  just  as  reliable  as  I  am." 


'I  brought  the  beautiful  leddy,"  said  Fanny  smiling, 
"a  letter  from  her  lover  in  New  York." 

Philip  winced.     "From  whom?" 

"  Captain  Andry,"  said  Fanny  in  a  whisper.  "It's  a 
mighty  good  thing  to  do,  for  it  gives  me  the  best  of  rasons 
to  go  back'ards  and  for'ards.  An'  it  puts  me  in  the  way 
of  picking  up  news.  Did  Captain  McLane  tell  you  what 
I  told  him— how  the  red-coats  feared  that  the  Spaniards 
would  soon  join  us  and  the  Frenchmen?" 

' '  Yes,  McLane  told  me.     When  do  you  go  back  to  New 

York?" 

"In  a  few  days.  I'm  waitin'  for  Miss  Hilen's  letter 
to  her  swateheart.     Will  I  bring  it  to  you  to  rade  before 

"  No  !"  exclaimed  Morris  peremptorily,  his  face  paling. 

"  I  thought  ye  might  be  amused  with  it.  His  was 
mighty  divarting  readin'." 

"There  is  no  need  of  my  seeing  the  correspondence, 
y^rthi,r_is  there?"  said  Morris,  as  if  on  second  thought 
he  wiis  questioning  what  his  duty  as  a  Continental  officer 

required. 

"  Not  a  particle,  I  think,"  replied  Pemberton.  "Helen 
is  not  acquainted  with  any  suspicious  characters— and  she 
could  not  tell  Andre  anything  if  she  would,  more  than  any 
common  spy  could  pick  up.  Besides,  lovers  generally 
have  more  interesting  matters  than  public  affairs  to  write 

about." 

Morris  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand.  All  the  life  and 
spirit  of  half  an  hour  befor||had  gone  out  of  him.  He 
had  half  hoped  that  in  Andre's  absence  Helen  would 
gradually  forget  him ;  but  here  was  proof  that  the  love  be- 
tween the  two  was  burning  as  warmly  as  ever.  He  gave 
a  deep  sigh. 

"It  would  be  very  unpleasant  to  me,  Arthur,  to  inter- 


2A0  PEMBERTON ; 

fere  in  the  least  with  Miss  Helen's  correspondence— and 
I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  shaH  leave  it  entirely 
to  yon.  It  is  not  a  case  that  I  can  even  trust  myself  to 
deal  with.  If  you  think  there  is  any  doubt  as  to  its  pro- 
priety, please  consult  McLane  or  Harry  Lee.  I  am  very 
sorry  indeed  that  it  has  been  my  bad  luck  to  know  any- 
thing about  it.  I  must  go  now,  good-bye.  Take  care  of 
yourself  Fanny."  And  Philip  walked  slowly  out  of  the 
rpom-feeling  ten  years  older  than  when  he  entered  the 

house  that  morning.  r    .i.     ^     .„ 

«'  I  will  go  also,  if  your  honor  has  nothing  further  to  say 

to  me,"  said  Fanny  rising.     "  Shall  I  bring  you  the  letters 

as  I  git  them?"  ^  .     «•    .      t 

..No-not  unless  I  send  you  word  to  that  effect.     1 

suppose  Captain  McLane  knows  where  you  can  be  found  ?^ 
"  Yes,  the  Captain  always  knows  that.     Good-raormn  , 

your  honor."  ,    ,       ,  c. 

As  Fanny  went  out,  she  carefully  closed  the  door  after 
her,  and  then  tapped  gently  at  the  door  of  Helen's  cham- 
ber.    Alow  voice  said,  "Come  in." 

Fanny  entered,  closing  this  door  also  carefully  behind 
her.  Helen  was  seated  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
gazing  steadily  out  of  the  window. 

"MissHilen."  _      ^^       . 

a  Well— have  you  betrayed  me — and  him?' 
«'  I  shall  niver  betray  him— excipt  to  save  him,"  replied 
Fanny  in  a  very  low  but  very  earnest  voice. 
"  What  did  you  tell  them  ?" 

«'  I  was  forced  to  give  theift  the  shell,  my  leddy,  m  order 
'     to  save  the  karnel."  .        , 

<'  What  did  you  tell  them?"  *" 

"  I  told  them,  my  leddy,  I  was  carrying  love-letters  be- 
tween you  and  the  Captain." 
"  What  else  did  you  tell  them?" 


OR,    ONE    UUNDUED    YEARS    AGO. 


241 


s  correspondence — and 
I  shall  leave  it  entirely 
in  even  trust  myself  to 
any  doubt  as  to  its  pro- 
Harry  Lee.     I  am  very 
bad  luck  to  know  any- 
ood-bye.     Take  care  of 
alked  slowly  out  of  the 
an  when  he  entered  the 

has  nothing  further  to  say 
ill  I  bring  you  the  letters 

word  to  that  effect.  I 
•here  you  can  be  found?" 
ws  that.     Good-mornin", 

11  y  closed  the  door  after 

le  door  of  Helen's  cham- 

in." 

oor  also  carefully  behind 

pjDOsite  side  of  the  room, 

w. 

e — and  him?" 
cipttosave  him,"  replied 
.rnest  voice. 

le  shell,  my  leddy,  in  order 
as  carrying  love-letters  be- 


"Nothing." 

"  \'ou  rcatl  that  letter  you  brought  me — I  mean  the  one 
in  the  pistol?" 

"I  did." 

"  You  betrayed  the  substance  of  that  letter?" 

••  Niver !"  replied  Fanny  in  an  emphatic  whisper. 

Helen  turned  around,  and  looked  her  visitor  straight  in 
the  eyes.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  she  in  a  low 
but  stern  voice,  "  that  you  did  not  betray  what  was  in 
tliat  letter?     Look  me  in  the  eyes,  girl — and  answer  !" 

Fanny  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  By  the  blessed 
Virgin,  the  Holy  Mother  of  God,  and  by  God  himself,  I 
swear  I  did  not !" 

Helen  walked  to  her  jewel  case,  and  took  out  a  gold 
cross,  set  with  pearls.     "  By  this  crucifix,  on  which  the 
Su.viour  suffered,  gemmed  with  these  pearls,  which  arc  the 
i.;a-s  of  Mary,  you  swear  it?" 

On  that  crucifix,  wet  with  the  tears  of  Mary,  I  sw* 
li  i"    and    Fanny  reverently  touched  with   her  lips   the 


cross. 

"  Enough. 


I  believe  you.  A  young  girl  like  you  could 
not  perjure  herself,  and  consign  her  soul  to  everlasting 
flames.     But  how  is  it  you  know  Mr.  Morris  so  well  ?' ' 

"  He  thinks,  my  leddy,  that  I  am  a  ribel  spy.  But  I 
only  use  the  ribels.  Faith !  I  kin  turn  them  round  my 
finger." 

*' They  will  detect  you  some  day."  *      ' 

"Perhaps.  But  I  don't  think  they'll  harm  a  woman 
very  much,  my  leddy,  if  they  do." 

"  You  say  that  you  had  to  tell  them  I  was  getting  let- 
ters from  Captain  Andr6." 

"  How  could  I  hilp  it?  They  knew  that  something  was 
going  on." 

"It  is  not  pleasant — but  I  suppose  that  must  be  borne. 


21 


242 


PEMBERTON  J 


And  it  may  prevent  suspicion  of  more  serijus  matters. 
Fanny,  you  will  not  show  that  letter  I  have  given  you,  on 
any  pretence  whatever  ?    I  would  rather  die  than  have  you 

do  it." 

"And  I  would  rather  die  than  do  it,"  replied  Fanny 
vehemently.  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  Captain  Andry  had 
saved  my  brither  from  that  horrid  prison?  And  that  1 
niver  forgit  a  favor  ?—niver !  Besides,  my  leddy— but 
perhaps  you  would  not  like  to  hear  it." 
"Tellme— what  isit?" 

"  I  am  a  poor  young  girl,"  said  Fanny,  and  she  abso- 
lutely seemed  to  blush— "and  Captain  Andry^is  a  noble 
gintleman— and  your  lover— and  may  you  be  happy  the- 
gither  in  the  long  years  to  come.  But  I  cannot  spake  it," 
said  Fanny,  hanging  down  her  head. 

"  Go  on,  my  good  girl,"  said  Helen,  her  curiosity  now 
thoroughly  excited, 

"I  was  only  goin'  to  say,  my  leddy— that  as  we  see  a 
star,  sometimes,  so  bright  and  gran'  above  us,  that  we  pick 
it  out  for  our  star,  though  we  know  the  star  cares  naught 
for  us— no,  never  hears  or  thinks  of  us  poor  mortals— so 
mysilf,  a  poor  but  honest  girl,  my  leddy,  gazes  up  at  and 
almost  worships  one  bright,  gran'  man  !  It  cannot  harm 
him— nor  me— leddy.     And  do  you  think  I  would  ever 

betray  him?" 

"My  poor,  good  girl !"  said  Helen,  sadly;  "take  this 
cross,  and  wear  it,  for  his  sake,  and  for  mine." 

"May  the  good  heaven  bless  you,"  replied  Fanny, 
hanging  the  cross  by  its  ribbon  around  her  neck,  and  con- 
cealing it  in  her  bosom.  "And  now,  if  you  will  plaze 
write  me  a  show  letter,  in  case  they  should  want  to  see 
what  you  have  sint  to  the  captain,  I'll  go." 

"  A  good  idea  that,  Fanny,"  'aid  Helen.  "  And  I  will 
make  it  strong,"  thought  she  to  herself,  "so  that  if  Mr. 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


2.r, 


more  serious  matters. 
;r  I  have  given  you,  on 
ather  die  than  have  you 

do  it,"  replied  Fanny 
that  Captain  Andry  had 
d  prison  ?  And  that  1 
lesides,  my  leddy — but 
:  it." 

1  Fanny,  and  she  abso- 
aptain  Andry^s  a  noble 
may  you  be  happy  the- 
But  I  cannot  spake  it," 
ad. 
rielen,  her  curiosity  now 

leddy — that  as  we  see  a 
n'  above  us,  that  we  pick 
3w  the  star  cares  naught 
5  of  us  poor  mortals — so 
ly  leddy,  gazes  up  at  and 
'  man  !  It  cannot  harm 
you  think  I  would  ever 

Helen,  sadly ;  "  take  this 
ind  for  mine." 
5s  you,"  replied  Fanny, 
round  her  neck,  and  con- 
id  now,  if  you  will  plaze 
they  should  want  to  see 
n,  I'll  go." 

aid  Helen.     "  And  I  will 
0  herself,  "so  that  if  Mr. 


Morris  insists  upon  reading  it,  much  pleasure  may  he  de- 
rive from  it." 

When  the  letter  was  written  and  sealed— "  strong  "  in- 
deed ill  expressions  of  attachment,  but  without  address  or 
signature,  save  the  single  letter  H.— Fanny  concealed  it  in 
a  twinkle  about  her  person,  manifesting  considerable  sleight 
of  hand ;  and  then  bidding  a  respectful  adieu,  she  quietly 
opened  the  door,  and  succeeded  this  time  in  descending 
the  stairs  and  leaving  the  house,  without  interruption. 

When  Fanny  got  out  into  the  street,  she  walked  along 
in  a  very  composed  manner  until  she  had  reached  a  more 
unfrequented  part  of  the  town.  Then  she  began  to  smile, 
and  finally  almost  to  shake  with  suppressed  laughter.  The 
whole  affair  had  delighted  Francis  Malone-whom  we  have 
spoken  of  in  the  feminine  gender,  in  accordance  with  his 
assumed  name  and  character— as  much  as  anything  of  the 
kind  that  had  happened  in  the  course  of  the  war.  It  was 
just  such  occurrences  as  these,  that  lent  to  his  occupation 
as  a  spy  such  zest  and  flavor.  The  last  scene  especially, 
in  which  he  had  gone  out  of  his  way  to  represent  himself 
as  enamored  of  Captain  Andr6,  seemed  to  him  one  of  the 
most  felicitous  strokes  he  had  ever  made. 

"I  clinched  it  then,"  ^id  the  captain  to  himself. 
"  She'll  never  doubt  me  after  that.  It  was  jist  the  thing 
to  go  down  with  a  woman ;"  and  the  captain  laughed  this 
time  outright,  so  heartily  that  if  any  one  had  been  near, 
he  certainly  would  have  thought  him  a  little  crazy.  She 
wouldn't  have  been  quite  satisfied  with  the  truth,  that  Cap- 
tain Andry  did  save  little  Barney  from  the  jail--bless  his 
ginerous  heart  forit!-and  so  I  tipped  hersomethm  more 
In  her  woman's  way.     Oh,  if  I  could  only  tell  it-it  s  most 

too  good  to  kape." 

So  Captain  Fanny  went  home  to  her,  or  his,  lodgings 
in  high  good  humor  J  while  Helen  sat  in  her  chamber,  till 


■1 


244 


PK.MUKRTON 


her  sister  .ame  in,  musi^t;  over  all  that  had  pressed.  Fanny  s 
■fervid  admiration  for  Andre  did  not  seem  to  her  ^voman  s 
heart  at  all  wonderful-and  perhaps  if  Kxnny  had  really 
been  a  woman,  it  would  have  been  neither  curious  nor  nn- 
probable.  As  it  w.s,  it  did  a  great  dea  to  strengthen 
Helen's  trust  in  Fanny's  reliabihty.  Helen  was  a  keen- 
witted woman,  and  yet  she  had  more  faith  m  the  seiU.- 
mental  falsehood  that  had  been  told  her,  than  ,n  the  other 
true  but  more  prosaic  statements.  She  was  nght  however 
in  her  reliance  on  Fanny's  integrity,  if  she  was  wrong  in 
crediting  one  of  the  principal  reasons  given  for  it. 

As  to  the  divulging  of  the  fact  that  she  was  correspond- 
ing with  Andre,  she  cared  little  that  either  Pemberton  or 
Philip  knew  it.  She  had  detected  in  the  latter  some  grow- 
ing germs  of  hope,  and  she  was  not  sorry,  both  for  his 
sake  and  her  own,  that  they  should  be  thus  rudely  crushed 
She  liked  Morris  very  much,  and  now  perhaps  he  would 
be  satisfied  to  be  to  her  as  a  loving  friend  and  brother 

As  to  Pemberton,  he  knew  through  her  sister  of  their 
engagement-for  Bella  never  could  keep  anything  long 
from  Pemberton-and  therefore  would  not  wonder  that 
Andr6  should  seek  to  correspond  with  her.  And  both 
Pemberton  and  Morris  could  be  depended  upon  to  keep 
her  secret  from  the  outside  world.  So  Helen  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  things  were  not  going  on  so  far  very  badly, 
after  all— and  her  countenance  was  quite  serene  and  placid 
when  she  met  Pemberton  an  hour  or  two  after  at  .^e  din- 
ner table.  Of  course,  neither  of  them-then ,  .r  afterwa-ds 
—made  any  allusion  to  what  had  occurred. 


i 


4       I 


OR,    ONE   HUNUREU    YEARS   AGO. 


245 


Lhat  had  passed.  Fanny's 
lot  scci.i  to  her  woman's 
aps  if  Fanny  had  really 
1  neither  curious  nor  im- 
;reat  deal  to  strengthen 
lity.     Helen  was  a  keen- 
more  faith  in  the  scnli- 
M  her,  than  in  the  other 
She  was  right  however 
rity,  if  she  was  wrong  in 
isons  given  for  it. 
that  she  was  correspond- 
that  either  Pemberton  or 
I  in  the  latter  some  grow- 
not  sorry,  both  for  his 
Id  be  thus  rudely  crushed, 
d  now  perhaps  he  would 
ng  friend  and  brother, 
rough  her  sister  of  their 
3uld  keep  anything  long 
;  would  not  wonder  that 
[id  with  her.     And  both 
e  depended  upon  to  keep 
1.     So  Helen  came  to  the 
joing  on  so  far  very  badly, 
^as  quite  serene  and  placid 
ir  or  two  after  at  i^e  din- 
■  them— then  or  afterwa-ds 
d  occurred. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ARNOLD   THK   TRAITOR. 

What  am  I  doing  worse 
Than  did  famed  Cxsar  at  tliu  Rubicon, 
When  he  the  legions  led  against  his  cmmtry, 
The  which  his  country  had  deliver'd  to  him  ? 
Give  me  his  luck,  t/uit  other  thing  VWhear.—  ll^alUHSteiH. 

In  the  same  library  where  the  interview  had  taken  place 
between  Helen  and  General  Arnold,  the  latter  was  again 
seated.  He  was  writing  a  letter  to  a  lady  in  Boston.  It 
read  as  follows : 

"  About  three  months  ago,  I  was  informed  that  my  late 
worthy  friend.  General  Warren,  who  was  killed  at  Bunker 
Hill,  left  his  affairs  unsettled  ;  and  that,  after  paying  his 
debts,  a  very  small  matter,  if  anything,  would  remain  for 
the  education  of  his  children,  who,  to  my  great  surprise,  I 
find  have  been  entirely  neglected  by  the  State.  Permit 
me  to  beg  your  continuing  care  of  the  daughter,  and  that 
you  will  at  present  take  charge  of  the  education  of  the  son. 
I  make  no  doubt  that  his  relations  will  consent  that  he 
shall  be  under  your  care.  My  intention  is  to  use  my  in- 
terest with  Congress  to  provide  for  the  family.  If  they 
decline  it,  I  make  no  doubt  of  a  handsome  collection  by 
private  subscription.  At  all  events,  I  will  provide  for 
them  in  a  manner  suitable  to  their  birth,  and  the  grateful 
sentiments  I  shall  ever  feel  lor  the  memory  of  my  friend. 
I  have  sent  to  you  by  Mr.  Hancock  five  hundred  dollars 
for  the  present.  I  wish  you  to  have  Richard  clothed 
handsomely,  and  sent  to  the  best  school  in  Boston.  Any 
expense  you  are  at,  please  call  on  me  for,  and  it  shall  be 
paid  with  thanks.  Yours,  very  respectfully, 

"Benedict  Arnold." 

21*  ' 


346 


PEMBERTON  ; 


Having  scaled  the  letter,  and  adilressed  it  to  Miss  Mercy 
Scollay,  of  Hoston,  Massachusetts,  Arnold  leaned  back  in 
his  chair.  "  It  seems  rather  amusing  for  a  man  like  me" 
—such  was  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts— "  who  can  hardly 
finil  money  enough  to  pay  for  his  marketing  and  clothes, 
to  be  playing  the  benefactor,  but  I  cannot  let  poor  War- 
ren's children  suffer.  Massachusetts,  Republic-like,  may 
forget  her  own  gallant  son  ;  but  I,  his  friend,  cannot  for- 
get him ;   he,  the  chivalrous  and   gentle  1     Poor,    noble 

Warren!" 

The  door  of  the  library  was  opened,  and  a  servant 

ushered  in  Mr.  Pemberton. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Pemberton.  Take  a  seat.  I  was 
just  thinking  about  you,  and  how  you  came  on  with  the 
collections."  ^^ 

«*  Not  very  well,  General,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  repUeil 
Pemberton,  taking  a  seat.  "  I  drew  up  a  paper  as  you  sug- 
gested, and  hea.led  it  w'  .  my  own  name  for  a  hundred 
dollars,  but  beyond  one  two  little  contributions,  scarcely 
worth  the  going  after,  1     ive  done  nothing." 

"  That  is  strange,"  rej..med  Arnold.  "  They  all  know 
that  Dr.  Warren  behaved  most  gallantly,  and  was  the  life 
of  the  Cause  in  Boston  for  years." 

"All  admit  that,  but  some  say  that  it  is  the  busmess  of 
Massachusetts  to  care  for  his  children,  others  say  Congress 

should  do  it." 

"  And  in  the  meantime,  I  suppose,  his  chddren  must  go 
naked.     It  is  a  mean  piece  of  business,  Mr.  Pemberton." 

«'  Others  say  they  have  given,  and  given,  for  one  thmg 
and  another— this  day  for  some  one  of  their  own  citizens, 
then  again  in  aid  of  the  soldiers-until  their  funds  and 
patience  are  alike  exhausted.  Besides,  the  Ball  in  honor 
of  the  French  Alliance  is  to  take  place  soon,  and  the  sub- 
scription papers  are  out  for  that. " 


U'ssed  it  to  Miss  Mercy 
Vniokl  Ic-ancil  baik  in 
g  for  ;i  man  like  me" 
ts — "who  can  harilly 
larketing  and  clothes, 
cannot  let  poor  War- 
ts, Republic-like,  may 
his  friend,  cannot  for- 
gentle!     Poor,    noble 

ipened,  and  a  servant 

.     Take  a  seat.     I  was 
you  came  on  with  the 

sorry  to  say,"  replied 

V  up  a  paper  as  you  sug- 

n  name  for  a  hundred 

:  contributions,  scarcely 

nothing." 

old.     "They  all  know 

lantly,  and  was  the  life 

liat  it  is  the  business  of 
ren,  others  say  Congress 

sc,  his  children  must  go 
iness,  Mr.  Pemberton." 
nd  given,  for  one  thing 
le  of  their  own  citizens, 
s— until  their  funds  and 
isides,  the  Ball  in  honor 
place  soon,  and  the  sub- 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRED    YEARS   AGO.  247 

«<D n   the   French   Alliance!"   exclaimed   Arnold 

fiercely.  "  1  hate  the  l-'rench  !  When  1  was  a  boy  1 
pulled  trigger  on  one  of  them,  because  he  had  the  impu- 
dence to  come  courting  my  sister  Hannah.  You'd  have 
laugheil  to  see  him  streaking  out  the  window.  1  slujuld 
tiiink  the  cowardice  or  treachery  those  French  monkeys 
showed  at  Newport,  would  be  enough  for  men  with  a  grain 
of  common  sense  in  their  heads." 

"  I  think  you  are  unjust  to  our  Allies,  General,"  replied 
Pemberton  earnestly  ;  "  the  storm  off  Rhode  Islanil  was  a 
had  one,  as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  English  fleet  also 
had  to  put  back  to  New  York." 

"  Yes,  they  might  well  do  it,  for  their  end  was  attained. 
And  then  to  think  of  D'Estaing's  impertinence,  in  putting 
out  that  proclamation  to  the  French  Canadians,  to  return 
to  their  allegiance  to  the  French  King.  That  shows  which 
way  the  French  ideas  are  drifting.  But  for  my  part,  if  we 
must  have  a  foreign  master,  I  would  rather  have  old  Eng- 
land, badly  as  she  has  acted,  a  hundred  times  over,  than 
those  slippery,  frog-eating  Frenchmen." 

"  It  was,  of  course,  an  unwise  and  ill-considered  step  in 
D'Estaing— and  the  folly  of  it  has  no  doubt  been  by  this 
time  represented  to  the  government  at  Paris — but  still. 
General,  the  French  Alliance  is  a  great  thing  for  us.  The 
British  might  be  in  this  city  now,  but  for  that." 

"  Well,  I  have  no  great  objection  to  it.  But  I  think  it 
more  sensible  to  wait  until  the  French  really  do  something 
worthy  all  their  display  of  ships  and  men,  before  getting 
np  balls  in  their  honor,  with  the  money  that  should  recom- 
pense our  own  brave  soldiers." 

"  Have  you  sounded  Congress  relative  to  a  pension  for 

the  Warrens?" 

"  Somewhat,  and  I  think  they  will  do  something,  or  at 
least  they  say  they  will— though  they  are  great  liars,  be- 


i 


Mil 

1 
HI 

III! 


H' 


i,iiW 


g^  pEMHERTdN  ; 

twecn  you  an<l  me.  Tlu-y  premise  tliat  the  children  shall 
have  a  Major  C.cuerars  half-pay,  dating  hum  the  time  of 
the  Doctor's  death." 

«« I  thought  they  could  not  refuse." 
..  No_it  wasn't  likely  they'd  refuse.     But  they  have  a 
way  of  never  doing  things,  that  amounts  to  about  the  same 
thing.     It's  not  very  different  whether  you  starve  your  dog 
to  death,  or  kno(  k  him  on  the  head  at  once." 
<'  Mow  about  your  own  claims.  General?' 
"They  are   trying  the  starving  plan  on  me.     I  have 
enemies  in  Congress,  sir.     I  see  them  clearly  through  the 
grass,  but  the  weather  is  too  cold  for  them  to  bite.     But 
they  keep  up  a  constant  hissing,  sir-a  constant  hissing. 
This  Court  Martial  is  their  work,  and  it  pleases  them  all 
the  better  that  the  exigencies  of  the  service  prevent  its 
bei  ng  held.     Of  course  I  shall  be  acquitted  when  it  is  held 
-but  until  that  time  I  am  under  a  cloud.     My  enemies 
know  this— Reed  and  the  rest  of  them." 

"  So  far  as  I  for  one  have  had  influence,  General,  I  have 
used  it  in  your  favor,"  said  Pemberton.  "  I  think  you  are 
occasionally  too  impulsive  and  rash  both  in  speech  and 
action-you  will  pardon  me,  I  know,  for  speaking  frankly 
—but  I  would  have  had  Congress  overlook  all  these  little 
things,  in  consideration  of  the  great  services  you  have  per- 
formed to  the  country." 

Arnold  held  out  his  hand.  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Peinber- 
ton,  both  for  what  you  have  done  in  my  behalf,  and  for 
your  frank  speech  just  now.  I  know  you  have  been  my 
true  friend,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it.  As  for  me,  I  am 
as  God  made  me.  If  I  were  not  impulsive  and  rash  I 
never  should  have  led  that  expedition  to  Quebec,  or  aided 
in  bagging  proud  Burgoyne."  ■ 

"     «'  I  know  well,"  replied  Pemberton,  "  that  men  s  high- 
■  est  virtues  and  their  greatest  errors  are  often  curiously  con- 


ii! 


11 


that  the  children  shall 
itiiig  hum  the  time  of 


fuse.     But  they  have  a 
lints  to  about  the  same 
ler  you  starve  your  dog 
1  at  once." 
cncral?" 

plan  on  me.  I  have 
MU  clearly  through  the 
for  them  to  bite.  But 
r — a  constant  hissing, 
ind  it  pleases  them  all 
the  service  prevent  its 
:quitted  when  it  is  held 
a  cloud.  My  enemies 
.em." 

luence,  General,  I  have 
■ton.  "  I  think  you  are 
sh  both  in  speech  and 
.w,  for  speaking  frankly 
overlook  all  these  little 
It  services  you  have  per- 

hank  you,  Mr.  Pember- 
:  in  my  behalf,  and  for 
now  you  have  been  my 
et  it.  As  for  me,  I  am 
3t  impulsive  and  rash,  I 
tion  to  Quebec,  or  aided 

rton,  "  that  men's  high- 
s  are  often  curiously  con- 


OR,   ONE   nirVDRFn   VKARS    .\(:n.  219 

no(  tf(l  tof^tcthcr — seeming  to  grou'  often  out  of  the  same 
nn.t." 

"Mine  do,  lam  sure,"  replied  Arnold.  "Mr.  I'em- 
beitoii,  if  ever  in  the  future  1  do  that  \vlu(  h  you  think 
worthy  of  blame,  pray  judge  me  as  leniently  ;is  you  can. 
Will  you  not?" 

"  1  will,"  replied  Pemberton.  "It  is  one  of  my  prin- 
ciples of  action,  to  think  as  charitably  as  1  can  of  nil  men 
and  their  deeds;  and  of  you  wlioni  1  have  known  so  well, 
and  admired  so  much,  1  shall  always  think  most  char- 
itably." 

"Thank  you!" 

"As  to  this  matter  of  the  Warren  subscription,"  con- 
tinued Pemberton,  "I  think  there  is  no  use  in  doing  any- 
tiiing  further  at  present.  I  will  let  you  have  the  sum  1 
have  myself  subscribed,  at  any  time  you  wish  it;  and  will 
do  more  as  it  is  needed." 

Shaking  hands,  Pemberton  left  the  room,  accompanied 
to  the  door  by  Arnokl.  The  latter  then  returned  to  the 
library,  and  resumed  his  interrupted  musings. 

"  Was  it  likely  the  Colonies  could  succeed?  If  they 
did,  would  France  be  in  fact  their  master,  as  well  as  ally? 
Was  even  Independence  desirable,  if  England  would  aban- 
don her  odious  pretensions,  and  grant  them  self-govern- 
ment in  all  local  affairs  ?  And  as  to  himself— which  was 
the  best  for  him?  Was  there  any  prospect  of  further 
honors  and  of  wealth,  if  he  adhered  still  to  the  colonies, 
and  they  were  triumphant  ?  Would  they  not  come  out  of 
the  struggle  terribly  exhausted — utterly  poverty-stricken  ? 
And  how  then  was  he  to  live  ^  in  a  manner  becoming  his 
position — and  his  wife's  position  ? 

"  If  he  should  imitate  in  some  degree  the  role  of  Monk, 
and  be  able  to  throw  the  game  into  the  King's  hand — 
what  then  ?    Would  he  be  Viceroy,  with  corresponding 


aso 


pfmukk  ION  •, 


nil 


iii. 


.1 , 

iili 


i: 


dignities  and  estates ?   Duke  of  ContiectKUt  perhars  ?   Or 
Hnot  Viceroy,  at  least  one  of  the  Auuru  an   House  o 
l>e.rs?     How  lus  young  wife  woul.l  aUoru  a  Court !     And 
hi.nself-he  felt  ia  lus  soul  tl.e  power  to  rule.     He  eould 
not  <ourt  the  populace-ho  was  too  much  ol  tl.e  Cor>olanu 
mouUl  for  that-but  he  <oul.l  a.-ept  a  pnsmon  fro.n  the 
King,  .-vn.l  prove  that  he  was  as  able  to  rule  as  to  fight. 

"Hut  to  unitate  the  exa.nple  of  Monk,  req.ured  a  M.mk  8 
opportn.nties.  He  had  no  .onuuand.  In  order  to  pliy  a 
great  part,  he  must  have  a  separate  command-and  time  to 
win  v)ver  his  ofTux-rs  and  soldiers.  _  _ 

.<The  hour  too  must  be  well  rhoscn.  An  auspinous 
moment,  when  his  defe.tion  would  almost  deeide  the  con- 
test It  was  evident  that  there  were  a  great  many  things  to 
think  of,  a  great  .lea!  lo  mature  and  to  plan,  before  such  a 

step  could  be  taken.  .,      „  i 

"If  he  succeede.l-.all  would  be  well.  Success,  and 
such  great  success,  would  gild  anything.  But  suppose  he 
shoukl  tail  ?  Then  he  would  be  a  traitor  and  an  outlaw. 
Even  if  he  succeeded,  of  course  his  old  friends  in  the  army 
would  h,ok  upon  him  asat.  litor,  but  that  could  be  bor.ie 
for  the  shrill  cry  of  the  disaffected  few  would  be  drowned 
in  the  loud  applause  of  a  whole  nation.  ,   ,     ^  , 

"  But  if  he  should  fail,  and  England  fail,  and  the  Colo- 
nies come  out  triumphant?  It  was  well  to  look  every- 
thing honestly  in  the  face.  Then  he  should  stand  as  a 
double-dyed  traitor-and  even  Englan<l  would  not  love 
the  unsuccessful  traitor,  while  the  World,  which  always 
looks  at  men  and  things  tho^ugh  the  eyes  of  the  victors, 
would  confirm  the  verdict. 

"  And  if  he  did  not  escape,  he  should  be  ignobly  hung! 

"  But  that  is  nothing  !  "  exclaimed  he  in  a  proud  tone, 

his  dark  thoughts  at  la.st  finding  vent  in  words      "When 

I  w.as  a  boy,  and  bathed  beside  the  huge  and  dnpping 


OR,  ONE  Hi;Nn»<Kn  years  Ar.o. 


aS' 


inccticut  perhaps?   Or, 
ic  Aimriian   House  of 
il  ;uluru  a  Court !     Ami 
wer  to  rule.     \i^  (uuUl 
)nuichof  tlieCoriolanus 
cpt  a  position  from  the 
)le  to  rule  as  to  fight, 
vioivk,  rciiuired  a  Monk's 
md.     In  order  to  iiUiy  a 
•  command — and  time  to 

chosen.  An  auspicious 
;l  almost  decide  the  con- 
re  a  great  many  things  to 
lul  to  plan,  before  such  a 

be  well.  Success,  and 
ything.  But  suppose  he 
a  traitor  and  an  outlaw, 
lis  old  friends  in  the  army 

but  that  coultl  be  borne, 
d  few  would  be  drowned 
lation. 

igland  fail,  and  the  Colo- 
;  was  well  to  look  every- 
en  he  should  stand  as  a 
England  would  not  love 
the  World,  which  always 
L  the  eyes  of  the  victors, 

e  should  be  ignobly  hung! 
limed  he  in  a  proud  tone, 
r  vent  in  words.  "  When 
e  the  huge  and  dripping 


wheel  of  the  old  mill,  I  feared  not  to  ilasp  my  anus  around 
it,  and  let  it  swing  me  higli  into  the  air,  although  I  knew 
it  W(juld  plunge  me  soon  again  beneath  the  cold,  deep 
water.  The  round  of  that  was  certain — a  certain  rise,  a 
certain  fall.  Here  rise  and  fall  are  both  uuicrtain;  but 
not  for  fear  of  liie  cold  plimge,  from  wliic  ii  um  somI 
emerges,  shall  I  hesitate.  Whatever  else  (Jod  made  me, 
he  made  me  no  coward.  I  have  offered  dea'.'ii  ray  hp.ud 
too  often,  to  care  that  he  should  t.ike  it,  sooixi  or  ijiiT, 
now.  Failure  I  fear,  and  poverty,  and  men's  6CQ\\i  j  Lut 
not  death — no,  not  death  !" 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

A   NEW   SCHEME. 

If  (loulilct  anrl  Iiosc  d.i  in.ikc  .*i  in.in. 
Then  this  i»  a  he,  deny  whii  can. 

One  day,  soon  after  breakfast,  a  sealed  note  nviS  bioiiRht 
in  to  Helen.  It  had  been  left  at  the  door,  ;ind  read  as 
follows — though  the  writing  was  not  remarkably  k^riLlo  : 

"Fn'viiU: — Will  Miss  Hilen  plazecome  and  see  me  this 
morning?  Fanny." 

Helen  knew  where  her  washerwoman  lived,  havin'^-  been 
there  once  when  she  engaged  her  services,  Ther.'  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  not  go,  and  making  ijr  'ixtuse  of 
some  necessary  shopping,  which  she  could  Uu  ou  \lv.  'ny, 
she  arrayed  herself  and  started  forth. 

Mrs.  Malone,  the  washerwoman,  livi>1  i-^  .:"  mth  street, 
the  southern  line  of  the  city,  not  Lt  from  the  theatre, 
which  had  been  erected  just  o-ti,:  At  of  the  ci^y  limits,  on 
account  of  its  being  prch'bited  by  the  very  good  and 


252 


PEMBERTON ; 


somewhat  narrow-minded  people  of  that  Jay,  as  an  un- 
godly and  wicked  institution. 

When  Helen  arrived  at  Mrs.  Malone's,  she  found  that 
jady — a  very  honest  and  decent  woman,  by  the  way — 
hanging  out  some  clothes  to  dry  in  the  yard  attached  to 
the  dwelling;  and,  upon  asking  if  a  young  woman  by  the 
name  of  Fanny  boarded  with  her,  was,  with  a  smile,  po- 
litely reiiuested  to  walk  into  the  house,  where  she  would 
find  her. 

But,  upon  entering,  much  to  Helen's  surprise,  the  only 
occupant  of  the  room  was  a  young  man,  who  started  up 
briskly  and  came  toward  her. 

"I  wished  to  see  a  young  woman  by  the  name  of  Fanny," 
said  Helen. 

"  I  thought  your  leddyship  said  you  would  know  me 
agin  when  you  saw  me,"  replied  a  voice  whtch  Helen  im- 
mediately recognized. 

"Why  Fanny,  is  this  indeed  you?"  exclaimed  Helen, 
gazing  at  the  figure  in  astonishment. 

"  The  very  same,  may  it  please  your  leddyship.  You 
see,"  added  he— or  she— smiling,  "I  am  Captain  Francis 
Malone  now,  and  perhaps  it  would  come  aisier  to  you  to 
call  me  Captain." 

•'  But  you  certainly  are  a  man,"  said  Helen,  looking  at 
the  Captain  dubiously.     And  surely  nineteen  persons  out 
of  twenty  would  liave  come  at  once  to  the  same  conclu- 
sion.    Not  taller  than  Helen  herself,  but  lithe,  elastic, 
muscular,  clothed  in  a  homespun  coat  and  breeches,  such 
as  were  commonly  worn  by  the  poorer  classes  at  that  day, 
with  the  hair  combed  back,  and  tied  with  eelskin  into  a 
'     long  queue.  Captain  Fanny  really  presented  the  appear- 
ance of  quite  a  bright-looking  and  well-made  young  man. 
"  I  think,  my  leddy,  I  am  ,>r«tty  well  got  up,"  said  the 
Captain.     "  I  have  padded  out  my  shoulders  you  see,  and 


J 


OK,    ONE   HUNDRED    YKAUS    AlU). 


253 


e  of  that  Jay,  as  an  un- 

Maloiie's,  she  found  that 
t  woman,  by  the  way — 
in  the  yard  attached  to 
if  a  young  woman  by  the 
;r,  was,  with  a  smile,  po- 
i  house,  where  she  would 

Helen's  surprise,  the  only 
lung  man,  who  started  up 

m  by  the  name  of  Fanny," 

said  you  would  know  mc 
,  a  voice  whfch  Helen  im- 

.  you?"  exclaimed  Helen, 

lent. 

ase  your  leddyship.     You 

ig,  "  I  am  Captain  Francis 

)uld  come  aisier  to  you  to 

n,"  said  Helen,  looking  at 
urely  nineteen  persons  out 

once  10  the  same  conclu- 
herself,  but  litiie,  elastic, 
m  coat  and  breeches,  such 

poorer  classes  at  that  day, 
id  tied  with  eelskin  into  a 
ally  presented  the  appear- 
md  well-made  young  man. 
-»tty  well  got  up,"  said  the 
;  my  shoulders  you  see,  and 


tied  up  my  hair,  and,  wore  it  not  for  my  voice,  I  think  I 
might  be  called  a  pretty  daccnt  young  fellow." 

"Yes,  your  voice  is  rather  feminine,"  rejoined  Helen 
doubtfully;  "and  still  I  think  I  have  heard  men  whose 
voices  were  no  more  masculine  than  yours  is." 

"I'm  delighted  to  hear  it,"  exclaimed  the  Captain, 
"  the  voice  is  my  only  wake  place." 
"  Have  you  been  to  New  York?" 
"  Yes,  and  got  there  and  back  safely,  as  usual.  He  is 
looking  splindid"— with  a  passing  attempt  at  a  sigh, 
which  did  not  suit  the  present  attire  as  well  as  the  female 
one.  "Half  the  young  gals  in  New  York  are  dead  in 
love  with  him,  his  sarvant  told  me." 

Helen  laughed.     "  Did  you  bring  anything  for  me  ?" 
"  Yes,  your  leddyship,  I  have  a  letter  in  my  little  steel 
safety-box  up  stairs.     Will  you  walk  up ;  it's  more  private 
there?" 

Helen  glanced  at  the  masculine-looking  figure.  "  No, 
I  think  not.  Bring  it  down  here ;  these  windows  a:e  cur- 
tained, I  see." 

"Yes;  and  my  auntie '11  give  us  notice  of  any  one's 
coming.     I  will  bring  it  down  to  your  leddyship." 

The  Captain  soon  reappeared  with  a  small  roll,  which 
Helen  concealed  in  a  little  pocket  she  had  made  in  the 
bosom  of  her  dress.  "  I  will  read  it  at  home,  and  bring 
you  my  answer  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  she,  preparing 
to  depart. 

"One  word    before   you  go,   Miss    Hilen.      I   don't 
know  whether  the  Major  speaks  of  a  little  project—" 
"The  Major?" 

"  Bless  my  soul,  and  you  had  not  heard  it?  Mr.  An- 
dry's  been  promoted— and  I'll  warrant  you  he'll  not  stay 
long  a  Major  even— why,  he's  Sir  Henry's  right-hand  man. 
Iverybody  says  that." 

22  :  '  ^  -' 


9|4 


PEMBERTON  J 


"  That  is  good  news,"  said  Helen  (juietly — but  her  eyes 
slione  with  an  added  lustre.  Another  ;.tcp  upward  had 
been  taken. 

"But  I  interrupted  you." 

"  I  was  goin'  to  say,  tliat  perhaps  the  Major  has  not  told 
you  in  the  letter,  of  a  little  plan  that's  on  foot.  We're 
going  to  try  to  bag  the  rebel  Chafe,"  said  the  Captain  in 
a  whisper,  as  if  the  very  walls  might  carry  the  news'  abroad. 

"What,  Washington?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  in  the  same  cautious  tone.  "When 
the  g'-eat  Ball  comes  off.  It's  to  be  at  Bush  Hill,  you 
know,  and  they  say  he'll  be  there.  There's  a  dozen  of 
us  engaged.  Half  are  to  be  sarvints — the  other  half  out- 
side with  the  horses.  We  would  push  for  the  head  of 
Chesapeake,  where  there'll  be  a  vessel  waiting.  All  is 
fixed  but  one  thing." 

"What  is  that?"  queried  Helen,'  almost  breathless  with 
the  boldness  of  the  proposed  exploit. 

"All  depinds  upon  his  goiu^.^  out  into  the  gardin',  away 
from  the  house.  We  want  some  lady  to  hilp  us — and  you 
are  the  best  one  we  can  think  of." 

"I  !"  replied  Helen.  "How  could  I  help  you,  even 
if  I  would?" 

"  You  are  the  handsomest,  and  the  most  bewitchin',  and 
the  most  captivatin'  leddy  in  the  city,"  said  the  Captain, 
in  his  most  insinuating  voice.     "  Iverybody  says  that." 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  General  Washington,"  re- 
plied Helen,  coldly,  and  rather  haughtily. 

"  But  you  could  git  an  introduction  to  him." 

"  Doubtful.  And  I  would  not  care  to,  for  such  a  pur- 
pose. ' ' 

"Thin,  it  must  all  be  given  up — ^and  the  war  must  go 
on — and  the  ribels  perhaps  beat  us  after  all.     That  one 


T 


-'( 


'11  quietly — but  her  eyes 
other  atcp  upward   had 


the  Major  has  not  told 
that's  on  foot.  We're 
,"  said  the  Captain  in 
:  carry  the  news'  abroad. 

lutious  tone.  "  When 
be  at  Bush  Hill,  you 

.     There's  a  dozen  of 

ts — the  other  half  out- 
pubh  for  the  head  of 

vessel  waiting.     All  is 

,'  almost  breathless  with 

it. 

t  into  the  gardin',  away 

.dy  to  hilp  us — and  you 

;ould  I  help  you,  even 

lie  most  bewitchin',  and 

ity,"  said  the  Captain, 

verybody  says  that." 

leral  Washington,"  re- 

ughtily. 

tion  to  him." 

care  to,  for  such  a  pur- 

— and  the  war  must  go 
is  after  all.     That  one 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AC. 


25s 


nate  stroke  might  save  thousands  of  poor  f  Uo  vs'  lives  I  " 
exclaimed  Captain  Fanny,  pathetically. 

Helen  thought  a  moment.  Perhaps  there  was  somethhig 
in  her  lover's  letter  about  this. 

"Tell  those  that  are  planning  this  desperate  scheme, 
that  I  will  think  it  over,  and  give  tliem  my  answer  in  a 
few  days.  If  tliey  can  find,  however,  some  other  lady  to 
aid  them,  I  should  greatly  prefer  it." 

"  I  am  sartin,  my  Icddy,  that  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it,  you  will  help  us,"  said  the  Captain.  "  The  Ginral 
sliall  not  be  hurt  at  all,  at  all,  no  more  than  Ginral  Lee 
was,  or  Ginral  Priscott.  And  it'll  end  the  war.  And 
you'll  do  it  all,  my  leddy." 

Helen  left  the  house,  walking  up  the  street  as  if  in  a 
brown  study,  and  the  captain  went  up  to  his  room.  "  She 
will  do  it,  I'm  sure,  if  the  major  tills  her  to,"  said  he 
niusin"-ly.  "  An'  it's  a  splindid  stroke — even  better  than 
that  plan  I  got  up  with  the  ribels  to  carry  off  Sir  Hinry — 
and  which  they  gave  up,  because  they  were  fearsome  they'd 
git  a  worse  man  in  his  place.  But  it  '11  stop  the  war,  sure. 
And  I'm  almost  timpted  to  blow  on  them.  That  would 
spile  my  business  so.  I  would  if  the  major  was  not  in  it. 
But  you  must  stick  up  fur  your  friends,  captain— and  be- 
sides, I  swore  to  be  true  to  the  major,  on  this  pretty  cross" 

and  the  captain  took  out  the  cross  from  his  bosom,  and 

kissed  it  devoutly.  "But  it  '11  be  great  fun.  Tliat  Ball 
will  be  worse  than  a  cannon-ball,  if  it  carries  off  Washing- 
ton. But  they  must  not  hurt  him— for  he's  every  inch  of 
him,  and  he's  over  six  feot.  a  tri,°  gintleman." 

And  in  this  way.  Captain  Malone  considered  the  sub- 
ject of  the  proposed  abduction,  pro  and  con,  from  his 
point  of  view ;  which  was  different  probably  from  the  point 
of  view  of  any  other  man  or  woman  in  the  country. 


■tij 


«5; 


aS^ 


PEMliERTON  ; 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SHALL     I      DO      IT? 

O  noble  trrorsl  how  ye  gem  the  dark, 
And  prove  that  even  in  hell  a  Goil  is  there! 

When  Helen  found  herself  once  more  in  the  privacy  of 
her  own  room,  and  secured  from  intrusion  by  the  locking 
of  the  door,  she  took  out  her  lover's  letter.  She  was  very 
anxious  to  see  the  business  portion  of  its  contents,  and  yet, 
woman- like,  she  perused  again  and  again  the  many  endear- 
ing expressions  with  which  it  opened,  and  then  glanced 
over  to  the  close,  to  see  with  what  sweet  words  it  ended, 
before  entering  upon  a  continuous  perusal.  We  need  not 
quote  the  letter  entire,  but  shall  simply  give  a  brief  sum- 
mary of  the,  to  us,  more  important  contents. 

Andre  thanked  her,  in  the  name  of  liis  general,  for  the 
important  aid  she  had  afforded  them  thus  far  in  the  mat- 
ter of  "  Vasa. ' '  A  note  addressed  to  Gustavus,  and  signed 
John  Anderson,  was  also  inclosed,  to  be  placed  in 
««Vasa's"  hands,  with  a  request  for  a  reply  through  the 
same  channel.  Then  the  plan  of  abduction  at  the  coming 
ball  was  referred  to,  and  shown  to  be  feasible,  if  the  gen- 
eral could  only  be  found  strolling  in  some  distant  part  of 
the  grounds.  Helen  was  not  directly  asked  to  take  part  in 
the  affair,  but  it  was  suggested  that  if  some  loyal  lady 
would  persuade  the  American  commander  into  a  prome- 
nade in  the  garden,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  festivities, 
she  would  aid  in  the  most  important  manner  the  loyal 
cause,  and  be  entitled  to  the  warmest  thanks  of  the  King 
and  nation.  As  to  the  effect  of  such  a  capture,  it  could 
hardly  be  over-estimated.  No  man  could  take  Washing- 
ton's place.  Even  if  the  loss  of  his  military  talents  could 
be  supplied,  the  loss  of  his  high  and  disinterested  charac- 


:* 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


aS7 


X. 

IT? 

c  dark, 

lull  is  there  I 

more  in  the  privacy  of 
ntrusion  by  the  locking 
's  letter.  She  was  very 
of  its  contents,  and  yet, 
again  the  many  endcar- 
ned,  and  then  glanced 
sweet  words  it  ended, 
perusal.  We  need  not 
imply  give  a  brief  sum- 
t  contents. 

e  of  liis  general,  for  the 
em  thus  far  in  the  mat- 
to  Gustavus,  and  signed 
sed,  to  be  placed  in 
for  a  reply  through  the 
ibduction  at  the  coming 
)  be  feasible,  if  the  gen- 
in  some  distant  part  of 
;tly  asked  to  take  part  in 
that  if  some  loyal  lady 
mmander  into  a  prome- 
;er  part  of  the  festivities, 
rtant  manner  the  loyal 
nest  thanks  of  the  King 
such  a  capture,  it  could 
lan  could  take  Washing- 
lis  military  talents  could 
,nd  disinterested  charac- 


ter coulil  not  be.  And  strict  orders  should  be  given  that 
he  was  not  to  be  injured  in  any  event.  Iscither  should  he 
be  punished  in  any  way  for  his  share  in  the  rebellion.  'I'iie 
King  was  ready  to  grant  a  comijlete  Amnesty  at  the  first 
decisive  moment — and  the  Americans  sliould  liave  all  they 
wanted,  except  Independence.  They  should  have  a  Vice- 
roy ;  and  if  Washington  would  be  that  Viceroy,  he  should 
be  made  Duke  of  Mount  Vernon,  and  installed  at  once. 
It  therefore  was  not  to  injure  any  one,  but  to  save  the 
further  shedding  of  blood,  and  end  the  war  at  a  blow,  that 
this  plan  had  been  arranged  with  the  warm  encouragement 
of  Sir  Henry  Clinton. 

Such  was  the  purport  of  Andre's  letter.  And  Helen's 
brain  almost  reeled  after  reading  it.  She  had  a  right 
noble  and  generous  nature.  Naturally  open  and  sincere, 
she  hated  everything  that  even  looked  like  duplicity.  And 
yet  she  was  evidently  regarded  as  the  most  available  per- 
son to  take  a  principal  part  in  a  scheme  involving  treach- 
ery and  deceit.  Granting  that  all  was  fair  in  war,  and 
that  she  was  a  loyal  woman,  while  Washington  was  a  rebel, 
she  was  a  woman,  and  therefore  outside  of  the  contention 
and  risks  of  arms— claiming  immunity  from  the  sacrifices 
and  losses  of  the  war,  because  she  was  a  woman.  What 
right  had  these  men,  with  their  rough  feelings  and  con- 
sciences, to  plan  a  part  for  her— a  high-bred,  truthful  wo- 
man ?  Why  did  not  John  Andr6  shield  her  from  this  en 
tircly— as  it  was  evident  from  the  tone  of  his  letter,  he 
had  done  in  part ;  the  superior  power  behind  him  urging 
him  on.     She  would  not — would  not — do  it  I 

But  then  came  the  revulsion,  which  every  one  feels  who 
weighs  a  great  decision.  The  plan  fails— the  war  goes  on. 
Perhaps  her  own  guardian,  her  own  lover  falls  in  the  next 
fight— a  battle  which  never  would  have  been  fought,  but 
for  her  delicate  scruples.     The  thought  was  madness. 

22* 


li 


r 


258  PEMBERTON  J 

Why  should  she  protend  to  be  wiser  or  better  than  these 
high-toned,  honorable  men  ?  Was  not  Wa,shington  him- 
self continually  engaged  in  trying  to  deceive  the  royal 
officers,  by  false  letters,  false  reports,  false  movements,  by 
deceptions  and  lies  of  all  kinds,  acted  and  spoken?  Would 
he  not  plan  in  the  same  way,  the  abduction  of  Clinton — 
and,  if  it  succeeded,  anil  through  some  fair  woman's 
wiles,  would  not  the  whole  rebel  land  ring  with  her  praises? 

Helen  walked  up  anil  down  the  room  in  the  agony  of 
her  emotions — first  swaying  to  one  «idc  of  the  question, 
then  to  the  other. 

At  last  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  small  velvet-bound  volume 
lying  upon  the  bureau.  It  was  the  Bible.  And,  as  many 
a  poor,  benighted  mortal  had  done  before  her — forgetful 
of  what  the  Scripture  itself  says,  that  "no  prophecy  of 
Scripture  is  of  any  private  interpretation" — she  said  to 
herself:  "I  will  open  the  Bible  three  times.  It  shall  de- 
cide my  course.  Good  Father,  guide  me!"  Shutting 
her  eyes,  and  groping  with  her  hands,  she  opened  the 
Book.  Her  eyes  unclosed,  and  she  saw  where  she  had 
opened. 

It  was  the  book  of  Judith — and  Judith  was  standing  by 
the  bed  of  Holofernes,  whom  she  had  deceived,  with  the 
drawn  sword  in  her  hand. 

Helen  drew  a  deep  breath.  She  turned  away  her  head 
for  a  minute's  space,  and  again  she  opened  the  sacred 
volume. 

It  was  the  book  of  Esther,  and  Mordecai  was  saying  to 
the  Queen  : — "  If  thou  boldest  thy  peace  at  this  time,  thou 
and  thy  father's  house  shall  be  destroyed  !  " 

"Twice  out  of  three  times,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice 
solemnly ;  "  but  1  will  try  yet  once  more." 

Again  she  opened  the  book.  It  was  at  the  story  of 
Deborah,  and  this  yfas  the  verse  her  eyes  first  fell  on — 


or  better  than  these 
)l  Wo-shingtun  him- 
)  deceive  the  royal 
false  movements,  by 
and  sjioken?  Would 
action  of  Clinton — 
some  fair  woman's 
ingwith  her  praises? 
3m  in  the  agony  of 
;ide  of  the  question, 

velvet-bound  volume 
ible.  And,  as  many 
efore  her — forgetful 
t  "no  prophecy  of 
ition  " — she  said  to 

times.  It  shall  de- 
de  me !"  Shutting 
ids,  she  opened  the 

saw  where  she  had 

lith  was  standing  by 
deceived,  with  the 

rned  away  her  head 
opened  the  sacred 

'decai  was  saying  to 
ace  at  this  time,  thou 
yed  !  " 

said  in  a  low  voice 
ore." 
was  at  the  story  of 

eyes  first  fell  on — 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


859 


"  And   I  will  draw  unto  thee  *  *  the  captain   of  Jabin's 
army,  *  *  anil  I  will  deliver  him  into  thine  hand." 

Helen  was  not  unusually  superstitious,  but  there  often 
flows  a  current  of  superstition  in  the  depths  of  the  strong- 
est and  sanest  minds.  She  had  appealcil  to  the  Scriptures, 
and,  as  she  thought,  had  been  answered  Her  decision, 
tlierefore  was  made.  What  she  was  called  upon  to  do, 
was  not  so  treacherous  and  cruel  a  part  as  Judith's,  and 
yet  Judith  had  come  down  in  praise  through  the  long 
generations,  because  she  had  forgotten  the  woman  in  the 
patriot.  Nor  even  so  cruel  as  Esther's,  for  no  man  was  to 
perish  through  her  agency ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  to  be 
elevated,  if  he  would,  to  the  highest  honor  in  the  land. 
But  it  seemed  clear  to  her  now  that  this  deed  was  chosen 
for  her — was  her  destiny.  She  was  to  act  a  principal  part 
in  the  last  scene  of  the  drama,  which  should  end  the  war, 
and  prevent  the  dismemberment  of  the  Empire.  And,  if 
successful,  her  name  would  go  down  on  the  pages  of  his- 
tory, as  that  of  one  worthy  to  rank  with  Judith  and  Esther 
and  Deborah. 

Helen  had  probably  never  heard  the  maxim,  "when 
the  time  has  come  for  action,  stop  thinking;"  but  it  was 
in  her  brave  and  resolute  nature  to  do  this,  through  the 
force  of  its  own  instincts.  And,  having  once  determined- 
on  her  course,  she  washed  all  traces  of  emotion  from  her 
tell-tale  face,  smoothed  her  luxuriant  silken  hair,  and  went 
down  calmly  into  the  parlor  to  wait  for  dinner. 

Isabella  and  Arthur  were  there  before  her,  both  too 
much  interested  in  their  own  affairs,  to  ask  many  questions 
of  what  slie  had  been  doing.  Lovers  are  not  apt  to  ask 
many  questions — not  wishing  to  answer  any  in  return. 
And  the  lives  of  these  two  lovers  were  flowing  on  in  the 
most  placid,  but  most  delightful  current.  It  was  a  long 
June  day  with  them.     They  were  so  happy,  that  there  is 


,   -:^-' 


■J 


36o 


PF.MBERTON  ; 


T 


ab.clutc.ly  nothing  to  tell  of  them.     Even  'overs   qnarrds 
..ere  things  of  whieh  they  did  not  dream,     l-^^^^ 
hapnene.1  not  only  to  be  n,ost  noble  and  gtH^s,  bu 
;:.;    reasonable  people.     Talking  or  reading  together  and 
even  sitting  at  times  without  conversation,  Arthur  reading, 
or  playing  his  ilute,  Isabella  sewing,  or  knitting   or  play- 
ing the  *harpsichord-for  the  piano,  the  enlarged  and  im- 
prtved  harpsichord,  was  not  yet  in  common  use-they 
enjoyed  the  blissful  present   as  not  many  lovers,  in  this 
imperfect  world,  are  able  to  do. 

..  W..  were  just  talking  of  going  to  the  Ball  said  Ar- 
thur, after  a  few  minutes.  "  I  also  bought  a  ticket  for  you, 
Helen;  will  you  go?"  _ 

"  Who  will  be  there— a  lot  of  Froggics? 
..Yes  if  you  call  them  that;  though  I  think  you  will 
speak  more  respectfully  of  the  French,  when  you  know 
them  better.     But  a  number  of  our  own  officers  will  also 
be  there;  and,  most  probably,  Washington  himself. 

<'I  should  like  to  see  Washington,  I  confess;  that  is 
if  I  could  have  a  little  conversation  with  him  ;  if  just  for 
one  thing,  to  find  out  why  you  and  Mr.  Morris  go  off  in 
such  a  blaze  of  rockets  whenever  his  name  is  mentioned 
"Well  if  you  will  go,"  said  Pemberton,  "  I  will  try 
.  and  give 'you  an  introduction.  Of  course  you  will  be  one 
of  the  handsomest  women  at  the  Ball,  and  Washington,  no 
doubt,  knows  a  pretty  woman  when  he  sees  her. 

"Thank  your  lordship!"  said  Helen,  with  a  courtesy. 
"Your  own  perceptions  of  the  beautiful  need  very  little 


.There  i.  ..n  amusing  account  of  pretty  Nelly  Custis  practising  »« Jhe  h^'P^ 
i:i.  .e.a.st,y  .  Her  --^^^^^X^  "  Tl^C^-^-as  l^ 

i:srr,:L^r^-"ihi;:r^o  was  .....^ .  o„ 

about  forty  or  fifty  years  before. 


OR,    ONF.   HI'NDUF.n    YF.ARS    Af'.O. 


261 


;vcn  lovers'  quarrels 
am.  For  they' both 
J  and  gtHlQjj^,  but 
cading  together,  and 
ion,  Arthur  reading, 
or  knitting,  or  play- 
;hc  enUirgcd  and  im- 
common  use — they 
many  lovers,  in  this 

3  the  Ball,"  said  Ar- 
lught  a  ticket  for  you, 

lugh  I  think  you  will 
\ch,  when  you  know 
own  officers  will  also 
ington  himself." 
)n,  I  confess;  that  is 

with  him;  if  just  for 
1  Mr.  Morris  go  off  in 

name  is  mentioned." 
smberton,  "  I  will  try 
course  you  will  be  one 
1,  and  Washington,  no 

he  sees  her." 
[elen,  with  a  courtesy, 
lutiful  need  very  little 

Custis  practising  at  the  harpsi- 
aying,  for  four  or  five  hours  at  a 
was  a  rigid  disciplinarian,  hold- 
(1  cost  one  thousand  dollars.  It 
piano.  The  harpsichord  was  in 
liano  was  invented  in  Germany 


more  cultivation.  But  I  think  I  know  one  gentleman — 
and  he  a  rebel  offi(  er  too — .vho  could  iini)rove  even  on 
your  rompUment." 

"Very  proljably,"  replied  Arthur. 

"  I  could  do  that  myself,'  said  Isabella,  "  for  if  Helen 
will  oidy  do  due  honor  to  h  ;r  charms  in  her  dress,  I'll 
wager  that  she  will  be  the  mcst  beautiful  woman  there — 
and  by  long  odds,  the  most  fascinating." 

"Oh,  you  sweet  little  Sis,"  iried  Helen,  throwing  her 
arms  around  l.er  ;  "you  know  veil  that  the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  at  the  Ball  will  be  Bella  Graham.  What  do 
you  say,  Arthur?" 

"  1  agree  with  you  perfectly,  ma  belle  Ilclenc.^' 

"Arthur  is  such  an  impartial  judge,"  said  Bella,  smil- 
ing serenely.   "  But  wait  till  Lieutenant  Morris  comes  in." 

"If  I  go,  I  mean  to  dress  like  a  Queen,"  said  Helen. 
"  So  that  when  people  ask,  who  is  that?  they  may  get  the 
answer,  that  is  one  of  the  Mischianza  ladies.  Yes,  and 
I'll  copy  the  Mischianza  dress  too,  for  the  fun  of  the  thing 
— except,  of  course,  those  horrid  spangles." 

"  All  right,"  said  Pemberton.  "  A  woman  as  pretty  as 
you  are,  can  do  anything.  Besides  we  do  not  war  upon 
women." 

"And  yet  a  woman'<6  hand  has  often  turned  the  scale  of 
Destiny,"  exclaimed  Helen  proudly.  "  Joan  of  Arc,  and 
Esther,  and  Judith,  and  Semiramis — " 

"  Oh,  those  terrible  creatures  !"  commented  Isabella. 

"  Names,"  continued  Helen,  "that  have  comedown  to 
us,  and  will  go  down  to  the  latest  generation,  in  proof  of 
what  the  soul  and  hand  of  a  woman  is  able  to  perform." 

"Why,  Helen,  you  look  quite  the  heroine,  with  that 
commanding  eye  and  brow,"  cried  Pemberton,  laughing. 
"  I  shall  be  careful  to  lock  up  all  the  loose  nails  and  ham- 


*  ,i  f 


262 


rF.MBKRTON  ; 


mers  about  the  house,  lest  you  treat  Eome  of  us  rebels,  as 
that  uw.lcl  heroine,  Jacl,  treated  Sisera." 

"  1-ur  shame,  Arthur,  how  can  you  talk  so  !'  said  Isa- 
bella reprovingly,  as  Helen  sat  down  in  a  little  of  a  col- 
lapse.    The   idea  of  Jael,  with  her  cruel  nail,  was  not 

iiKvumt  to  her.  .    1  t    1    n 

.'  Will  Washington  really  be  there?"  queried  Isabella. 
"There  is  very  little  doubt  of  it,"  replied  Pemberton. 
"He  certainly   is  a  very  handsome  man,"  contnnied 

Isabella.      "  He  looks  ih^  great  man,   if  any  one  ever 

looked  in"  ,   T,      ,     . 

"He  looks  it,  and  is  it!"  exclaimed  Pemberton  en- 
thu.iiustically.  "Why,  Uella,  I  positively  believe,  in  real, 
sober  earnest,  that  he  alone  upholds  our  great  Cause.  I 
tremble  sometimes  to  think  how  everything  hangs  on  that 
one  man's  life.     A  chance  ball,  an<l  where  are  we  ?" 

"There  are  no  chance  balls  1"  replie.l  Isabella,  fervently. 
"  I  am  happy  in  the  faith  that  all  is  onlered  by  the  Wise 
Supreme;  and  that  while  Washington  has  his  great  work 
to  do,  no  Indian's  sure  aim,  no  Ferguson's  matchless  rifle, 

will  be  able  to  take  him  off." 

Helen  listened  attentively— her  whole  form  was  agitated 
with  her  emotion,  though  as  she  took  no  direct  part  in  the 
conversation,  her  sister  and  Pemberton  did  not  perceive  it. 

"  It  would  almost  seem  to  be  as  you  say,"  rejoined 
Pemberton.  "  Lee  was  captured,  as  the  result  of  a  piece 
of  recklessness,  and,  as  some  of  us  think,  just  at  the  right 
time.  He  might  have  superseded  Washington,  and  lost 
us  everything.  Washington  committed  precisely  the  same 
fault  when  down  near  the  head  of  Elk,  and  came  off  safely 
If  he  had  been  captured,  like  Lee,  I  tremble  to  think  of 

the  result." 

Helen  broke  in  :   "  If  Washington  then  should  be  cap- 
tured, it  seems  to  me  to  follow  from  what  you  say,  that  it 


OR,    nVR   Ht'NDRF.n   YEARS   AfJO. 


263 


me  of  us  rebels,  as 

talk  so!"  said  Isa- 
n  a  little  of  a  col- 
ruel  nail,  was  not 

'  (nicried  Isal)ella. 
L'ljlictl  Pembcrton. 
;  man,"  continued 
1,  if  any  one  ever 

icd  Pcmberton  en- 
ely  believe,  in  real, 
our  great  Cause.  I 
thing  hangs  on  that 
■lic'ic  arc  \vc?" 
;1  Isabella,  fervently, 
rdered  by  the  Wise 
has  his  great  work 
ion's  matchless  rifle, 

lie  form  was  agitated 
no  direct  part  in  the 
1  did  not  i)erccive  it. 
you  say,"  rejoined 
the  result  of  a  piece 
ink,  just  at  the  right 
Washington,  and  lost 
•id  precisely  the  same 
,  and  came  off  safely. 
[  tremble  to  think  of 

then  should  be  cap- 
what  you  say,  that  it 


would  be  a  proof  that  Provideiue  thought  the  proper  time 
liad  ( ome  to  allow  tlie  Royal  cause  to  prevail." 

••  1  (  onfess  it  would  almost  seem  so  to  me,"  replied  Isa- 
bella, faithfully  holding  on  to  the  line  of  h'.-r  argument. 

"1  don't  know  about  that,"  said  i'emberton  with  a 
laugh  ;  "  that  is  a  kind  of  application  of  our^lottrine,  tiuit 
I  for  one,  I  must  say,  would  not  be  quite  ready  for.  I 
should  be  for  figliting  it  out,  I  am  afraid,  to  the  bitter  end, 
trusting  that  Providence  was  still  working  in  our  favor, 
thougli  in  some  mysterious  way." 

"Arthur,  1  do  not  think  you  really  have  any  faith," 
said  Helen  gravely.  "Lsabella  has  faith,  and  I  can  un- 
derstand her ;  but  I  do  not  like  people  who  carry  water 
on  both  shoulders  in  religious  matters,  as  you  do." 

"For  my  part,"  replied  Pemberlon  laughing,  "I  think 
it  a  very  sensible  thing  to  carry  water  on  both  shoulders; 
when  one  shoulder  gets  tired  or  dislo(  ated,  you  can  tlien 
turn  to  the  other,  llut  I  tliink  1  heard  tlie  dinner-bell 
just  now.     Allow  me  to  wait  on  you  out,  lair  ladies." 


204 


fEMnEUTOS; 


I 


1» 
-« 

I 

■ft 

.1! 


CIIAPTICR  X. 

•niK  iiAi.i,. 

"Thin  wnn  tliu  nutiU»t  Kiini;iii  df  tlicm  all"— 
ACIiiisli.ui  K"iii.inl  ilr..»iii^l'rililil"lirc 
Frniii  l'.>lcMinu  mul  Rniiic  I  uilI  l.n  Uiii^;  llil", 
Or  1.1.  kiiiK  tli.it,  li."l  I'"-"'  "ni.s»cr  linuhl, 
l.c»s  lit  to  K»iil"  »"'!  """''>'  '''<^  '"'•""  ^'■""'' 

The  evening  of  tlic  Uall  had  :irrivc(l.     The  old  Manor 
house  of  the  I'enn  lumily.  at  Hush  HiU-then  a  •  'vm  <l.s- 
tance  hcyond  the  suLiirbs  of  the  <  ity-was  untenanted,  «iye 
by  an  aged  negro  eunple  whose  business  it  was  to  keep  the 
house  and  grounds  in  some  kind  of  order,  and  was  .  hosen 
as  the  scene    of   tlie    festivities.     A    number   of   Irench 
off.,  ers  had  come  on  to  Philadelphia  to  pay  their  respects 
to  C-ongress-taking  advantage  of  the  .  urious  inactivity 
which  characteriml  the  campaign  of  1779!  --i"''  '^«  »he 
Phihi.lelphia  of  that  time,  notwitiistanding  the  mixl.ue  of 
the  Quaker  element  in  society,  was  greatly  devote.l  to 
pleasure-seeking,  this  Ball  had  been  devised  as  a  means  of 
showin-  them  honor,  and  promoting  the  good  feeling  be- 
tween the  two  nations. 

Washington  also  had  arrived,  and  would  be  present 
The  Commander-in-chief  did  not  altogether  approve  of 
the  mirth  and  feasting  which  was  so  much  the  order  of  the 
day  in  the  Quaker  city,  but  he  was  very  anxious  that  every 
kindness  ami  all  due  respect  should  be  shown  to  the  t  rench 
officers.  Especially  was  he  anxious  that  it  should  be  done 
at  this  time,  when  the  unfortunate  affair  of  Rhode  Island 
still  rankle<l  in  the  poi.ular  mind,  and  tended  to  reawaken 
those  feelings  of  dislike  and  contempt  for  the  Iiench, 
which  had  grown  up  through  the  animosities  of  many  cen- 

*" 'fl^ere  was  a  large  and  gay  party  assembled  at  the 


OR,   ONE   HlINDKKl)   YKAKS   AGO. 


865 


licm  »U"^ 
ilil^life 

,1111  Slate. 

1(1.     'I'hc  old  Manor 
ill— then  a  •  'mri  dis- 
-wasuiittMuiiitL'd,  «ivc 
ess  it  was  to  keep  tiie 
rdiT,  and  was  (  hoscn 
niunber   of   I'rcnch 
I  to  pay  their  respects 
the  <  uriuiis  inactivity 
of  1779;  a»d  as  the 
aiding  the  mixture  of 
us  greatly  devoted  to 
devised  as  a  means  of 
V  the  good  feeling  be- 
nd would  be  present, 
altogether  approve  of 
much  the  order  of  the 
,ery  anxious  that  every 
)e  shown  to  the  French 
that  it  shoidd  be  done 
affair  of  Rhode  Island 
nd  tended  to  reawaken 
tempt  for  the  Trench, 
nmosities  of  many  cen- 

larty  assembled  at  the 


manor-house  of  Spriiigetl>,l>ury  that  evening.  The  man- 
sion itself  W.LS  brilliantly  illuminated  with  wax  candles  and 
lustres,  and  adorned  witi>  mirrors  and  paintings  and 
statues,  and  the  intermingled  lla^s  of  I'l  mv  and  tlie 
United  Stales;  wl\ile  the  extensive  gro"  'i>  attached  to 
tlie  house,  with  their  gravel  walks  and  evergreen  arbors 
and  wilderness  of  sliade,  including  thick  groves  of  cedars 
and  catalpas,  were  lighted  upwilli  C.'hinese  lanterns  fur  the 
enjoyment  of  i)romenaders.  Nearly  a  hundred  I-'renc  h 
and  American  officers  were  present,  and  a  still  larger  num- 
ber of  civilians,  in(  luding  members  of  the  C'ontineiital 
Congress,  and  other  gentlemen  of  high  political  and  social 
repute.  As  we  have  said,  Washington  also  was  present, 
the  centre  of  admiring  and  venerating  eyes. 

Helen  had  come,  as  she  had  planned,  but  not  in  the 
Mischianza  attire.  When  rallied  by  IVmberton  for  tlie 
abandonment  of  that  significant  costume,  she  had  simply 
replied  that  she  was  a  woman,  and  had  her  privilege  of 
changing  her  mind.  But  it  was  evident  that  to  whatever 
reason  the  change  was  due,  Helen  had  done  wisely  so  far 
as  the  elegance  of  her  dress  was  concerned.  In  truth,  as 
Judith  arrayed  herself  in  her  finest  apjjarel  when  she  went 
forth  to  captivate  Holofernes,  and  Esther  to  ask  her  (tivor 
of  Ahasucrus  the  King,  so  Helen  resolved  to  spare  no  pains 
to  increase  the  effect  of  her  own  surpassing  charms.  Slie 
was  attired  in  a  beautiful  pale-green  silk — of  a  shade  nearly 
resembling  that  which  we  of  this  day  have  seen  reproduced 
under  the  title  of  "  eau  de  NW — fitting  closely  to  her 
shapely  form  and  trailing  behind  her,  but  cut  low,  and  dis- 
closing the  faultless  contour  of  her  dazzling  white  neck. 
Her  white  arms  also  were  uncovered  from  just  below  the 
shoulder — save  as  all  were  hidden  by  an  overdress  of  costly 
lace,  which  covered  but  only  partially  concealed  her  virgin 
beauty.     Around  her  neck  she  wore  a  carcanet  of  pearls, 


966 


PfcMBEUTON  ; 


•I 

i 

I 

5i 


1r' 
III 


with  a  cross  attached  to  it,  and  hanging  low  upon  her 
bosom.  And  pearls  were  also  entwined  in  lier  gold-brown 
hair,  which  was  worn  somewhat  high,  after  the  fashion  of 
tlie  time,  but  unpowdered,  and  braided  like  a  coronet 
around  her  classically  shaped  head.  And  from  her  small, 
beautiful  ears  also  depended  pearls. 

The  festivities  commenced  with  a  dance  in  honor  of 
the  Alliance  between  the  two  countries.  Pemberton  and 
Isabella  took  part  in  this.  It  was  a  double  Quadrille — 
which  dance  the  French  officers  had  brought  over  with 
them,  and  which  was  just  beginning  to  take  the  place  of 
the  more  ceremonious  Minuet.  Four  of  the  eight  gentle- 
men were  arrayed  in  the  French,  and  four  in  tlie  Ameri- 
can military  uniform;  while  four  of  the  ladies  wore  blue, 
with  American  flowers  in  their  hair,  and  four  white,  with 
green  scarfs,  and  artificial  flcurs-dc-Us.  The  American 
officers  dancing  with  the  ladies  that  represented  the 
French,  and  the  French  officers  dancing  with  the  ladies  in 
blue. 

As  the  company  crowded  to  the  sides  of  the  room  to 
make  space  for  the  danceis,  Helen  found  herself,  very  lit- 
tle to  her  own  surprise,  but  apparently  very  unpremedi- 
tatedly,  quite  close  to  Washington.  She  was  surrounded, 
as  was  apt  to  be  the  case,  by  quite  a  company  of  admirers, 
and  this,  together  with  her  liveliness  and  wonderful  beauty 
of  face  and  form,  evidently  attracted  the  notice  of  the 
General.  Helen  was  in  splendid  spirits.  Never  had  she 
shone  more  brilliantly  than  on  this  evening.  That  her 
excitement  was  not  entirely  natural,  did  not  detract  from 
its  power.  She  was  intoxicated  with  the  excitement  of 
her  bold  design— for  she  had  agreed  to  act  the  part  which 
had  been  planned  for  her,  if  she  possibly  could. 

Soon  tlie  Alliance  Quadrille  was  over,  and  the  couples 
engaged  in  it  mingled  with  the  rest  of  the  company.  And 


( t 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


267 


anging  low  upon  her 
ned  in  lier  gokl-brown 
;h,  after  the  fashion  of 
raided  like  a  coronet 
And  from  her  small, 

a  dance  in  honor  of 
tries.     Pemberton  and 

a  double  Quadrille — 
lad  brought  over  with 
ig  to  take  the  place  of 
ur  of  the  eight  gentle- 
and  four  in  the  Ameri- 
f  the  ladies  wore  blue, 
r,  and  four  white,  with 
Jc-Us.     The  American 

that  represented  the 
icing  with  the  ladies  in 

c  sides  of  the  room  to 
found  herself,  very  lit- 
rently  very  unpremedi- 
.     She  was  surrounded, 
a  company  of  admirers, 
is  and  wonderful  beauty 
cted  the  notice  of  the 
spirits.     Never  had  she 
his  evening.     That  her 
il,  did  not  detract  from 
with  the  excitement  of 
;d  to  act  the  part  which 
DS.sibly  could, 
s  over,  and  the  couples 
it  of  the  company.  And 


then  Helen  felt  a  touch  on  her  arm,  and  turned  to  see 
Pemberton  and  \v'ashington  standing  at  her  side. 

"  Allow  me  to  present  to  ycnir  Excellency,  Miss  Helen 
Graham,"  said  Pemberton.     Helen  made  a  deep  curtsey. 

"  Sliall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  you,  Miss 
Helen?"  said  Washington  j  "I  see  they  are  waiting  for 
me  to  lead  off. ' ' 

Helen  signified  her  assent,  and  putting  her  gloved  hand 
in  the  large,  masculine  one  extended  toward  her,  was  led 
to  the  head  of  the  principal  set. 

Helen  was  so  excited  that  she  could  scarcely  trust  her- 
self to  speak.  It  seemed  hardly  regular.  His  Excellency, 
many  evidently  thought,  should  have  begun  with  Mrs. 
President  Reed,  and  danced  with  some  twenty  other  dow- 
agers before  ever  thinking  of  the  young  ladies.  But  it 
was  not  a  clear  case  of  fascination  and  wilfulness.  Wash- 
ington revered  the  proprieties,  although  they  were  intoler- 
ably irksome  to  him  at  times.  But,  strictly  speaking,  this 
was  not  a  ball  in  his  honor — it  was  in  honor  of  the  French — 
and  he  merely  attended  as  a  private  gentleman  ;  therefore 
he  was  entitled  to  exercise  the  freedom  of  a  private  gentle- 
man. 

He  was  not  apt  to  make  a  mistake  in  etiquette,  and  he 
had  fully  considered  all  this  before  he  came  to  the  ball. 
Therefore  he  felt  at  liberty  to  conform  to  his  own  inclina- 
tions. As  for  dancing  itself,  he  liked  dancing  with  a  good 
partner :  and  when  he  got  a  gocti  partner,  he  was  not  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  change.  He  had  danced  three  hours 
at  a  time  with  Mrs.  General  Green,  as  it  was  not  at  all 
unu  ual  in  those  days  for  a  gentleman  to  dance  the  whole 
evening  with  one  partner.  In  fact,  in  some  parts  of  the 
country,  it  was  esteemed  almdst  a  slight  to  the  lady  to 
leave  her  before  all  the  dances  were  over. 

Helen  gradually  regained  her  composure  as  she  went 


263 


PEMrERTON 


r' '  ir 


'lll'l 


M, 


I'll' 


throuKh  the  short,  dignified  steps  of  the  state  y  minuet 
Sfbe  General,  and  soon  w.s  quite  ready  to  take  advan- 
Ta 'e  of  the  pauses  of  the  dance,  to  keep  up  an  anuuated 
lo^wersation.  They  talked  of  the  new  dance-the  quad 
riUe-of  the  weather,  and  of  all  those  various  topes  whch 
well-bred  gentlemen  and  ladies  use  to  keep  up  the  shuttle- 
rock  of  Jwersation  on  such  occasions.  Then,  after  half- 
an-hour  or  so,  Helen  requested  to  be  led  to  a  seat,  saying, 

with  an  arch  smile :  .        ^  i    ^„j 

"  I  want  to  get  home  safely  this  evening,  General-und 
if  I  monopolize  you  too  long,  some  of  these  beautiful 
ladies  will  never  forgive  me." 

Washington  smiled.  "  How  adroitly  you  young  ladies 
can  manage  things.  Now  I  know  there  is  some  young 
gentleman  around,  who  wonders  how  long  I  am  going  to 
take  advantage  of  my  position  to  appropriate  you.         _ 

-That  mtg/a  be  true,  your  Excellency-and  does  jus- 
tice to  your  penetration-but  it  happens  to  be  otherwise. 
There  is  not  one  young  gentleman  in  the  room  for  whom 
I  care,  in  the  way  you  allude  to,  a  silver  button. 

«.  Then  I  shall  claim  your  hand  for  another  dance  before 
the  evening  is  over,  for  I  have  quite  taken  a  fancy  to  you, 

Miss  Helen."  .   .      ,      v      ^-r  n,„„^ . 

-  Thank  you,"  said  Helen,  inclining  her  beautiful  head , 
-  you  do  me  much  honor.  And  I  shall  be  greatly  pleased 
to  dance  with  your  Excellency  again,  toward  the  close  of 
tfle  evening.    You  will  not  forget  it?" 

"I  never  forget  engagements,"  replied  Washington 
smiling  "  Now  I  will  leave  you  and  see  if  I  really  am  so 
popular  among  the  young  ladies  as  you  say.  Who  is  that 
standing  talking  with  Mr.  Pemberton  ?" 

-That  is  my  sister  Isabella.     Is  she  not  beautiful 
exclaimed  H#n  in  ner  enthusiasm  for  her  sister.      •  She 


V 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


269 


f  the  stately  minuet 
ready  to  take  advan- 
icep  up  an  animated 
E\v  dance— the  quad- 
!  various  topics  wliich 
)  keep  up  tlie  shuttle- 
is.  Then,  after  half- 
led  to  a  seat,  saying, 

■ening,  General— and 
lie  of  these  beautiful 

litly  you  young  ladies 
there  is  some  young 
w  long  I  am  going  to 
jropriate  you." 
lency — and  does  jus- 
jpens  to  be  otherwise, 
n  the  room  for  whom 
liver  button." 
r  another  dance  before 
taken  a  fancy  to  you, 

ing  her  beautiful  head ; 
hall  be  greatly  pleased 
n,  toward  the  close  of 

t?" 

'   replied  Washington 

id  see  if  I  really  am  so 

you  say.     Who  is  that 

)n?" 

s  she  not  beautiful?" 

1  for  her  sister.     "She 


will  be  delighted  to  dance  with  you.  It  will  'do  her 
proud,'  as  the  school' girls  used  to  say  at  Bethlehem." 

"  I  think  she  looks  very  much  like  you — only  with  a 
difference.     She  looks  graver,  and  less — less — " 

"  Volatile  and  giildy  ;  thank  you,  General." 

"Impulsive,  was  the  word  I  was  seeking.  Do  not  for- 
get that  dance."  And  Washington  walked,  in  his  stately 
way,  over  to  her  sister. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  the  General?"  asked  Pem- 
berton,  coming  up  to  her,  as  Washington  led  Isabella  to  a 
place  in  a  new  set. 

"I  wish  you  would  take  a  seat  by  me  here  on  this 
lounge,  Arthur,  and  keep  off  everybody.  I  don't  feel  like 
conversing  with  any  one  just  now,  I've  got  a  bad  head- 
ache." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  indeed.     Can  I  not  get  something — " 

"What  a  foolish  man!  I  mean  the  figurative  head- 
ache, which  ladies  get  when  they  do  not  wish  to  be 
bothered." 

"Oh,"  said  Pemberton,  smiling.  "I  feel  very  much 
flattered  indeed.  But  I  suppose  our  apparent  tete-a-tete 
will  keep  others  off,  and  your  bad  headache  will  keep  me 
off,  and  so  you  v/ill  be  unmolested  in  the  very  midst  of  so- 
ciety. I  am  glad  you  have  a  beautiful  sister,  not  subject 
to  bad  headaches,  at  lea'*-  when  I  am  about." 

Helen  made  no  answer.  Her  eyes  were  following  Wash- 
ington and  Isabella  through  the  stately  dance — or  rather 
Washington,  for  she  did  not  even  see  her  sister.  He  was 
certainly  a  grand  figure.  Attired  in  a  complete  suit  of 
black  velvet,  with  the  exception  of  the  pearl-colored  waist- 
coat, and  with  a  dress  sword  at  his  side,  he  was  the  most 
stately  and  dignified  man  that  Helen  had  ever  seen. 

And  she  liked  him.  His  face  was  caim^rand,  serene 
— and  when  he  smiled,  it  lighted  up  with  a|post  beautiful 

2-5* 


270 


PEMBEUTON  ; 


and  benignant  expression.  And  he  also  evidently  liked 
her— would  perhaps  have  danced  with  her  all  the  evening, 
had  slic  been  willing  to  allow  it. 

Helen  was  in  no  mood  just  then  for  sportive  conversa- 
tion. The  thought  of  what  she  had  agreed  to  perform — 
and  what  she  still  meant  to  perform— had  grown  in  one 
short  hour  very  unpleasant  to  her.  Judith  had  persevered 
to  the  tragic  end,  and  without  the  least  womanish  shrink- 
ing of  heart ;  but  would  she  if  Holofernes  had  r.  embled 
Washington  ? 

This  man  doubtless  was  engaged  in  a  bad  cause,  but, 
like  Arthur,  and  Morris,  and  so  many  others  whom  she 
personally  knew,  he  was  honest  and  sincere  to  the  very 
core.  It  was  not  pleasant,  however  right  and  expedient, 
to  carry  out  such  a  design  as  she  had  agreed  to  aid,  when 
such  a  man  was  the  object. 

But  yet  this  awful  war— and  its  possible  consequences  to 
those  she  loved  best.  She  saw  now  how  it  was  that  this 
one  stately  figure,  like  a  Doric  column,  held  up  the  entire 
edifice  of  the  Rebellion.  He  once  removed,  and  the 
whole  evil  structure  would  come  down.  And  it  was  for 
his  good'also,  as  for  the  good  of  all— that  of  the  Colonies, 
and  that  of  th(;  whole  Empire. 

Her  brain  seemed  to  reel  under  these  conflicting  plead- 
ings of  the  mind  and  heart.  But  she  must  not  disappoint 
her  friends— she  must  not  disappoint  her  lover— she  must 
persevere  in  her  purpose. 

They  were  handing  around  some  refreshments.  ' '  Please 
get  me  a  glass  of  vater,"  said  Helen  to  Pemberton.  "  I 
cannot  drink  wine  just  now." 

Pemberton  left  her,  and  at  that  moment  one  of  thr  negro 
waiters  came  up  to  her  with  a  cake  tray.  He  was  slightly 
made,  and  oL^  tole-ably  dark  color,  though  with  none 
of  the  usualW"can  features.     As  Helen  took  *  cake 


»*■" 


V 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


37X 


also  evidently  liked 
her  all  the  evening, 

ir  sportive  conversa- 
igrced  to  perform — 
-had  grown  in  one 
idith  had  persevered 
St  womanish  shrink- 
2rnes  had  r^  embled 

in  a  bad  cause,  but, 

ny  others  whom  she 

sincere  to  the  very 

right  and  expedient, 

agreed  to  aid,  when 

sible  consequences  to 
how  it  was  that  this 
in,  held  up  the  entire 
e  removed,  and  the 
wn.  And  it  was  for 
-that  of  the  Colonies, 

ese  conflicting  plead- 
e  must  not  disappoint 
t  her  lover — she  must 

freshments.  "Please 
i  to  Pemberton.     "  I 

ment  one  of  the  negro 

ray.     He  was  slightly 

ar,  though  with  none 

Helen  took  -a  cake 


out  of  a  basket  of  silver  filagree  work,  he  said  in  a  low 
voice — "Do  not  forgit.  We  shall  have  all  ready  by 
twilve." 

Helen  started.  She  recognized  the  voice  at  once  as 
that  of  Captain  Fanny.  He  moved  on  as  Pemberton 
came  back  with  some  water.  No  one,  who  was  not  sus- 
pecting, could  have  detected  the  captain  under  his  negro 
disguise.  It  gave  Helen  a  startling  sense  of  the  reality  of 
the  conspiracy,  which  was  very  unpleasant  to  her. 

Isabella's  coming  up  broke  the  charmed  circle  of  the 
apparent  tete-a-tete;  and  the  two  sisters — the  acknow- 
ledged queens  of  the  Ball — were  thenceforward  surrounded 
by  a  gay  crowd  of  gentlemen.  Helen  welcomed  it  as  a 
relief  from  her  confused  thoughts.  She  altered  her  deter- 
mination, and  drank  glass  after  glass  of  wine ;  she  danced 
with  gentleman  after  gentleman,  even  with  two  of  the 
French  officers — she  smiled,  and  sighed,  and  almost 
flirted— and  was  to  the  height  the  charming,  fascinating, 
bewildering  being  that  nature  so  often  sends  into  the  world 
to  set  men  wild  and  crazy. 

As  the  company  came  out  of  the  supper-room,  and  pre- 
pared to  resume  dancing,  Washington  again  can*  to  her. 
"Are  you  ready  for  that  dance  yet.  Miss  Helen?" 

"  I  have  danced  and  danced  till  I  am  almost  tired  of 
dancing,  and  should  prove,  I  fear,  a  sorry  partner. 
Would  not  your  Excellency  prefer  a  stroll  out  in  the 
grounds,  where  we  could  get  a  little  fresh  air  this  warm 

evening?" 

Washington  immediately  oiTered  his  arm.  "  I  think  I 
should  enjoy  that  myself  much  better  than  the  dancing," 
replied  he. 

They  walked  off  together,  leaving  a  disconsolate  group 

of  beaux  behind  them. 

"  You  seem  to  have  had  a  merry  time  oW|t'^is  evening, 


/\ 


~T 


272 


PEMBF.RTON  ; 


Miss  Helen,"  said  Washington,  looking  down  upon  her 

benignantly.  _ 

<<  Yes— too  merry  !  I  think  I  should  enjoy  a  little  sober 
and  sensible  conversation  for  a  change.  I  am  not  always 
so  absolutely  frivolous.  General." 

«'  If  I  am  not  greatly  mistaken  in  my  judgment,  you  are 
not  a  mere  woman  of  society,  Miss  Helen.     There  is  a  » 
depth  of  tone  in  your  voice,  which  no  mere  worldlmg's 
voice  ever  has.     And  these  are  times  to  call  out  the  deep- 
est emotions,  both  of  men  and  women." 

"  Oh  would  that  this  cruel  and  unhappy  war  were  over !" 
exclaimed  Helen,  almost  passionately.  "You  must  hate 
war,  General— any  one  can  see  that  in  your  face.  Why 
then  not  agree  to  a  peace  ?" 

"  I  do— to  use  your  own  strong  expression,  my  chdd— 
haie  war,"  replied  Washington.  "And  gladly  would  I 
aid  in  making  peace.  But  the  road  to  Peace,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  lies  just  now  through  the  smoke  and  carnage  of  the 

battlefield."  .  „  , 

"  I  do  not  see  it  so ;  I  do  not  see  it  so,"  replied  Helen, 
with  animation.  "I  know  from  what  the  British  Com- 
missioners said  to  me  and  to  others  when  they  were  in  the 
city  last  year,  that  England  is  ready  to  grant  every  de- 
mand of  the  Colonies." 

"  Except  one !"  said  Washington  with  brevity, 
"  I  suppose  your  Excellency  means  Independence— but 
that  was  not  one  of  the  original  demands." 

"  No.  But  the  war  has  opened  our  eyes  to  its  necessity. 
It  has  awakened  those  who  thought  themselves  only  chil 
dreii,  to  the  proud  consciousness  that  they  are  really  men, 
and  that  the  parental  rule  should  of  right  cease.  •  If  we 
were  to  agree  to  resume  our  allegiance,  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years  the  struggle  for  Independ.  '-e  would  force  itself 
upon  us.     It  flkie  part  of  wisdom,  as  it  seems  to  me,  to 


/v 


ing  down  upon  her 

:1  enjoy  a  little  sober 
;c.     I  am  not  always 

tiy  judgment,  you  are 
Helen.     There  is  a  » 
no  mere  worldling's 
to  call  out  the  deep- 
11." 

ippy  war  were  over !" 
y.  "You  must  hate 
in  your  face.     Why 

cpression,  my  child — 

And  gladly  would  I 

to  Peace,  I  am  sorry 

ke  and  carnage  of  the 

it  so,"  replied  Helen, 
hat  the  British  Com- 
when  they  were  in  the 
iy  to  grant  every  de- 

with  brevity. 
IS  Independence — ^but 
ands." 

ur  eyes  to  its  necessity, 
themselves  only  chii 
It  they  are  really  men, 
of  right  cease.  '  If  we 
ice,  in  the  course  of  a 
I'-.e  would  force  itself 
as  it  seems  to  me,  to 


OR,    nNF^IIT-VPRFO    VKARS    Ano. 


273 


persevere,  especially  as  the  French  and  Spanish  alliances 
make  our  success,  if  we  do  not  grow  faint-hearted,  abso- 
lutely certain." 

They  had  been  walking  up  and  down,  at  first,  amid  or 
near  a  score  of  other  couples;  but  Helen  had  purposely 
l||h-ected  their  course  toward  the  outer  paths  of  the  grounds. 
Now  they  were  near  the  extreme  limit,  where,  amid  a  small 
grove  of  cedar  trees,  an  arbor  had  been  placed,  with  a 
couple  of  seats,  and  a  small  table  between  them.  Helen 
knew  the  place  by  description  well,  it  was  the  very  spot 
agreed  upon,  being  not  only  close  to  the  rear  entrance, 
but  in  the  most  shaded  and  secluded  portion  of  the 
grounds. 

"I  feel  tired,"  said  she;  "shall  we  sit  down  a  moment?" 
They  took  seats,  with  the  little  table  between  them. 
"You  spoke.  General,  of  the  French  Alliance,"  said 
Helen,  resuming  the  conversation.  "  I,  for  one,  cannot 
forget  for  how  many  centuries  France  and  Spain  have 
been  our  almost  natural  enemies,  and  the  enemies  of  the 
Protestant  cause.  Has  the  King  of  France  grown  to  love 
Republicanism  of  late,  that  he  has  joined  the  Colonies,  or 
is  it  not  rather  the  old  hatred  against  England  and  Pro- 
testantism flashing  out,  according  to  the  wise  maxim, 
'  Divide  and  conquer'  ?"  :  . 

"  I  do  not  suppose  that  the  King  of  France  acts  from 
very  philanthropic  motives,"  replied  Washington  smiling ; 
"but  when  a  man  is  struggling  in  the  water,  he  is  not 
generally  very  curious  as  to  the  motives  of  the  man  who  is 
trying  to  help  him  out.     The  good  service  is  the  same." 

"And  having  helped  him  <;iit,  what  if  he  ".ays,  'now  do 
as  I  bid  you,  or  I  will  throw  you  in  again?'  " 

"If  that  time  should  ever  come,  certainly  he  would  be 
even  then  in  a  better  position  than  before  for  he  would 
be  at  least  on  his  feet,  and  on  the  land." 


274 


rF.MiiF.nTON ; 


"  This  French  Alliance  seems  to  me  positively  wicked, 
continued   Helen  earnestly.     "Providence  cannot  smde 
on  it.     Your  Excellency  has  heanl,  doubtless,  of  that  acci- 
dent, as  some  call  it,  at  the  dinner  given  by  Monsieur 
Gerard  to  the  French  officers,  last  week  ? 

"I  heard  a  brief  allusion  to  it.     What  was  it?  -^ 

<'The  lightning  struck  the  house,  in  the  midst  of  theW 
festivities,  melted  the  very  silver  spoons  and  p  ates  they 
were  using,  stunned  half  the  company,  and  killed  one  of 
the  Frend.  officers  outright.     Should  not  that  be  a  warn- 
ing?" said  Helen  excitedly. 

"Yes,  my  dear  child,  I  think  it  should  be.  I  think 
Monsieur  Gerard  should  profit  by  living  in  the  same  city 
with  your  wise  Dr.  Franklin,  and  have  a  hghtningM-od  put 
uTbefore  any  further  damage  is  done,"  replied  Washing- 

ton  with  a  grave  smile.  „      . , 

"Do  you  not  believe  ihen,  General,  that  Providence 

■'  interferes  in  the  affairs  of  this  world?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  But  you  will  find  it,  my  dear  girl, 
impossible  to  regulate  your  conduct  by  omens  1- or  in- 
stance, this  is  one  ;  but  then,  as  you  doubtless  know  an- 
other stroke  of  lightning  melted  the  "°-"  f"^^^"^ 
Church  steeple.  And  the  falling  snow  deadened  t  e 
noise  of  our  surprise  of  Colonel  Rahl  at  Trenton  ;  and  tl.e 
coming  up  of  a  sharp  frost  aided  us  to  escape  from  Corn- 
wls  at  Assunpink  Creek,  and  to  fall  upon  his  rear  at 
Princeton.  Therefore,  you  see.  the  omens  are  by  no 
means  all  on  one  side."  .„   o=  Mrs 

"The  Rev  Mr.  Tennent,  a  very  good  man.  as  Ms. 
Pemberton  once  told  me.  was  struck  by  lightning  in  the 
ftr  ets  of  Philadelphia,  and  was  not  injured  m  the  least^ 
Not  even  the  sipell  of  fire  wa.  upon  his  garments,  though 
Z  Xer  buckles  at  his  knees  ar.d  ou  hi.  shoes  were 


melted,"  rejoined  Helen. 


T 


e  positively  wicked," 
■idence  cannot  smile 
oubtless,  of  that  acci- 
■  given  by  Monsieur 
.•ek?" 

^'Iiut  was  it?"  ^^ 

in  the  midst  of  th^W 
jons  and  plates  tlioy 
iny,  and  killed  one  of 
1  not  that  be  a  warn- 

should  be.  I  think 
iving  in  the  same  city 
ve  a  lightning-rod  put 
le,"  replied  VVashing- 

leral,  that  Providence 

?" 

I  find  it,  my  dear  girl, 
:t  by  omens.  For  in- 
)U  doubtless  know,  an- 
the  crown  on  Christ 
r  snow  deadened  the 
il  at  Trenton  ;  and  the 
;  to  escape  from  Corn- 
fall  upon  his  rear  at 
the  omens  are  by  no 

ry  good  man,  as  Mrs. 
ck  by  lightning  in  the 
ot  injured  in  the  least, 
tv  his  garments,  though 
ind  on  his  shoes  were 


OR,  ONK  in'Nriurr)  vf.aus  ago. 


2  75 


"And  many  a  bad  man  doubtless  also  has  been  struck, 
and  received  no  damage;  while  numberless  good  men  and 
women,  and  innocent  children,  have  been  killed." 

"  I  cannot  help  believing  there  is  something  in  these 
things,  these  natural  or  Divine  interpositions,"  said  flelen, 

iightfuUy. 
^'  Wh)',  my  dear  girl,"  said  Washington,  smiling  kindly 
on  her,  "  if  I  had  attended  to  my  premonitions,  1  should 
not  have  been  here  to-night." 

Helen  started,  and  gazed  eagerly  into  his  face. 

"  All  day,"  continued  Washington,  "  I  have  felt  an  un- 
accountable depression,  an  omen,  some  miglit  think,  of 
impending  evil.  But  should  I  stay  away  from  this  ball, 
and  say  that  I  was  frightened  by  an  omen  ?  My  duty  lay 
just  here,  and  that  should  be  enough  for  any  man.  I  did 
do  one  thing,  I  brought  along  my  (luard,  as  a  prudential 
measure,  which,  perhaps,  I  should  not  otherwise  have 
done." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  have  attended  to  your  feelings% 
as  Mrs.  Pemberton,  who  13  a  Quaker,  would  say — and  have 
stayed  away." 

"What!  and  missed  making  your  acquaintance.  Miss 
Helen  ?  V^hy,  I  am  not  so  old  but  that  I  would  run  a 
little  risk  to  have  a  nice  talk  with  a  charming  woman. 
Of  course  I  cannot  talk  much  with  men.  I  must  keep  up 
my  dignity  with  that  presuming  sex." 

Helen  glanced  at  her  watch.  It  was  half- past  eleven. 
Twelve  was  the  appointed  hour,  but  they  might  think  it 
expedient  to  anticipate  it.  And  she  had  not  yet  positively 
determined  what  she  would  do.  Could  she  betray,  even 
for  his  own  good,  this  noble  man,  who  evidently  liked  her, 
and  would  trust  her  to  the  utmost.  , 

"General,"  she  continued,  "one  thing  more  I  should 
like  to  say.     Of  course  it  is  a  woman's  idea,  but  I  think  it 


\l' 


UP' 
lliv 


276  pembepton; 

could  be  realized.  1  should  like  to  sec  the  Colonics  havt: 
their  just  rights.  I  shoiilil  like  to  see  tliem  united,  with 
their  own  American  rarliunieat,  composed  of  a  House  of 
Commons  and  a  House  of  Peers.  1  should  like  to  see  a 
Viceroy  of  native  birth,  some  man  of  commanding  api>ear- 
ance,  talents  and  character,  who  should  be  ennubletl,  hdd 
his  office  for  life,  and  represent  the  King.  And  I  shouSi 
like  that  man  to  be  George  Washington." 

For  the  first  time  Washington's  eyes  gazed  keenly  upon 
the  beautiful  woman  before  him,  as  if  he  half  suspected 
she  spoke  the  words  of  others.  But  he  recovered  his 
equanimity  in  a  moment,  and  said  simply,  with  a  pleasant 

smile : 

"  My  dear  Miss  Helen,  how  little  you  understand  me. 
Putting  aside  the  question  of  Republicanism,  I  have  posi- 
tively no  desire  for  such  honors  as  you  si^eak  of.     What 
little  ambition  I  had  once,  has  been  completely  dissipated 
by  my  experience  during  the  last  three  years.     To  be  in  a 
high  position  is  to  have  one's  motives  constantly  impugned, 
to  have  the  wisest  actions  misconsUued,  and  be  the  con- 
stant prey  of  anxiety  and  care.     Did  I  not  think  it  my 
duty  to  serve  my  country  in  the  position  where  she  has 
placed  me,  I  would  resign  my  present  rank  to-morrow. 
You  spoke  of  Peace !     How  gladly  shall  I  welcome  it,  and 
return  to  the  calm  pursuits  and  pleasures  of  private  life. 
Viceroy  cf  America!     Such  a  position  would  have  no 
charms  for  me.     I  long  for  rest,  not  for  power  and  splen- 
dor.     Give  me  a  homespun  dress  rather  than  purple 

robes." 

Helen  gazed  up  into  his  face  with  admiration  not  un- 
mingled  with  awe.  This  man  was  too  kingly  to  covet  the 
crown  of  a  king.  He  was  the  Roman  Cincinnatus  come 
back  to  earth.  She  started  as  she  heard  a  tread,  but  it 
was  simply  a  servant  bearing  a  silver  waiter,  with  some 


)  sec  the  (Jolonics  have 
}  sec  them  united,  with 
uinposed  ot"  a  Uouse  of 
1  should  like  to  see  a 
of  commanding  api>ear- 
lould  be  ennubletl,  hold 
e  King.  And  I  shouw 
ngton." 

eyes  gazed  keenly  upon 

as  if  he  half  suspected 

But  he  recovered  his 

I  simply,  with  a  pleasant 

tie  you  understand  me. 
ublicanism,  I  have  posi- 
as  you  sjjcak  of.     What 
en  completely  dissipated 
three  years.     To  be  in  a 
ves  constantly  impugned, 
nsUued,  and  be  the  con- 
Did  I  not  think  it  my 
position  where  she  has 
)resent  rank  to-morrow. 
y  shall  I  welcome  it,  and 
ileasures  of  private  life, 
position  would  have  no 
not  for  power  and  splen- 
iress  rather  than  purple 

with  admiration  not  un- 
as  too  kingly  to  covet  the 
Roman  Cincinnatus  come 
she  heard  a  tread,  but  it 

silver  waiter,  with  some 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


377 


ices  and  wine  upon  it.  It  was  Captain  Fanny.  He  set 
down  die  waiter  on  the  table  between  tliem,  and  poured 
out  two  glasses  of  the  wine.  As  he  poured  the  wine,  he 
caught  Helen's  eye  for  a  moment,  and  shook  his  head,  as 
if  signifying  that  she  was  not  to  drink  it. 

"  Marse  Cadwal'dor  said,  gib  his  compl'mcns,  an'  say 
dat  wine  was  de  werry  best  old  Matleery  he  ebcr  tasted." 

"Tell  him  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  him  for  remem- 
bering me,"  said  Washington. 

Helen  sat  a  moment  as  if  stupefied.  The  whole  con- 
certed plan  flashed  before  her.  She  was  to  possess  herself 
of  Washington's  sword — for  so  powerful  a  man  might  not 
easily  be  ma.stered,  even  if  approached  from  behind.  And 
it  was  evident  that  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  this 
wine  had  been  sent— dragged,  doubtless,  with  laudanum, 
or  some  other  powerful  narcotic.  Washington  spoke  to 
her,  but  she  made  no  reply.  She  heard  his  voice,  but 
she  did  not  comprehend  his  words.  She  sat  gazing  out 
before  her,  as  if  her  eyes  were  fascinated  by  some  horrible 
object. 

Receiving  no  answer,  Washington  put  out  his  hand  and 
took  up  one  of  the  glasses  of  wine.  But  before  he  had 
time  to  put  it  to  his  lips,  Helen  sprang  forward  wUdly— 
overturning  the  table  with  its  contents,  that  went  crashing 
upon  the  ground,  and  striking  the  wine-glass  from  his 
hand — shrieking,  "a  snake!  a  snake!" 

Washington  started  to  his  feet,  put  his  left  arm  around 
her,  and  with  his  right,  after  vainly  looking  about  for*a 
meaner  weapon,  drew  his  sword. 

"Is  it  gone?  is  it  gone?"  cried  Helen,  breathlessly. 
"  Oh,  let  us  not  stay  here  a  moment  longer ;  let  us  hurry 
to  the  house." 

"Are  you  certain  you  saw  a  snake?"  asked  Washing- 
ton, as  they  made  their  way  toward  the  mansion. 

24  ■-:'".  '■;■--'■• 


^.^ 


•a 


378 


rF.MllF.RTON  ; 


Ih 


mm 
ill 


"Oh,  I  am  so  frightened,"  said  Helen.  "  I  was  never 
frightened  at  a  tuike  btrforc.  But  it  was  horrible,  hor- 
rible, horrible  I" 

A  number  of  persons  had  heard  the  shriek,  and  they 
now  gatli.Tcd  around  the  General  and  Helen  iiuiuiringly. 

"  Miss  Helen  thought  she  saw  a  snake,"  said  VVashin^^ 
ton,  -.'.U.  a  smile.  "Why,  what  is  the  matter?"  vx- 
claimed  he,  as  he  felt  Helen's  weight  begin  to  drag  on 
his  arm,  and,  looking  around,  saw  she  was  sinking  to  the 

grc.nnd. 

Helen  had  fainu  d.  The  terrible  excitement  of  an  even- 
ing passed  under  :  uch  circumstances,  and  culminating  in 
the  drugged  liquui  .md  her  change  of  purpose,  had  proved 
too  much  for  her  highly  sensitive  organization. 

Washington  was  possessed  of  innnense  strength,  and 
disregarding  all  offers  of  assistance,  he  took  the  lUinling 
gir!  up  in  his  arms  as  if  she  hatl  been  a  child,  carried  her 
into  l'.c  house  and  laiil  her  upon  a  sofa.  Then,  directing 
the  aujiious  crowd  to  stand  back  and  give  her  air,  while 
IsaU'.la,  who  had  hastened  up,  unloosed  her  clothing,  he 
calmly  took  a  s.-at  on  a  chair  near  her. 

In  a  few  minutes  Helen  began  to  revive.  She  partly 
opened  her  eyes,  as  if  to  see  who  was  near  her,  and  seeing 
Washington,  feebly  put  out  one  of  her  arms,  and  laid  her 
hand  in  his.  But,  as  she  recovered  consciousness  more 
completely,  she  seemed  to  recollect  where  she  was  and 
the  proprieties,  and  gently  withdrew  it. 

"  I  am  sorry  the  snake  gave  you  such  a  fright,  my  dear 
child?"  said  Washington  tenderly. 

"Snake!"  cried  Isabella,  opening  her  large  eyes  even 
wider ;  "  Helen  doesn't  care  for  snakes.  She  once  killed 
a  rattlesnake  in  the  woods  near  Bethlehem,  while  all  the 
other  girls  ran  screaming  away." 

"This  was  a  very  large  snake,"  said  Helen,  in  feeble 


*   .  * 


^^^^ 


f" 


II 


Iclcn.     "  I  was  never 
it  was  horrible,  hor- 

1  the  shriek,  and  they 
ul  Helen  inquiringly, 
nuke,"  said  VVashinj.^- 
is  the  UKitter?"  ix- 
iglit  begin  to  drag  on 
iho  was  sinking  to  the 

excitement  of  an  even- 

i,  and  culminating  in 

if  purpose,  had  proved 

ganization. 

innense  strength,  and 

.■,  he  took  the  fainting 

:n  a  child,  carried  her 

iofa.     Then,  directing 

md  give  her  air,  while 

oosed  her  clothing,  he 

ler. 

:o  revive.     She  partly 

as  near  her,  and  seeing 

her  arms,  and  laid  her 

ed  consciousness  more 

ct  where  she  was  and 

w  it. 

such  a  fright,  my  dear 

ng  her  large  eyes  even 
lakes.  She  once  killed 
sthlehem,  while  all  the 

"  said  Helen,  in  feeble 


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~J^Si^ 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  «(f9 

accents.     "  And  it  had  no  rattles  either.     It  was  a  mean, 
miserable,  horrible  anaconda  1" 

"  I  think  we  had  better  get  Helen  home  as  soon  as  we 
can,"  said  Isabella  to  Pemberton  ;  "she  is  evidently  quite 
unwell,  and  wandering  in  her  mind." 

And  so  the  carriage  was  ordered,  and,  supported  be- 
tween Pemberton  and  Washington  himself,  Helen  was 
taken  to  it,  and  put  in ;  his  Excellency  bidding  her  good- 
bye in  the  most  affectionate  manner,  and  telling  Pember- 
ton to  be  sure  and  let  him  hear  the  next  day  how  she  was. 
As  the  carriage  drove  off,  Washington  turned  to  the 
officer  of  his  Guard,  which  latter  lounged  about  near  their 
horses,  some  ten  or  twelve  picked  men. 

"Any  strangers  around  here  to-night?"  asked  the 
General. 

"  Not  very  many.  A  couple  of  wagon-loads  of  rather 
rough-looking  fellows  from  the  country,  and  some  people 
I  judge  living  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city  j  all  come  to  see 
the  show,  they  said." 

"  What  has  become  of  the  countrymen?" 
"They  drove  off,  a  while  ago,  laughing  and  swearing; 
something  seems  to  have  amused  some  of  them  and  irri- 
tated the  others,  very  much." 

"Get  your  men  ready;  I  shall  leave  in  a  short  time," 
replied  Washington,  and  re-entered  the  house. 

As  he  leaned  back  in  his  carriage,  and  rode  home,  soon 
after,  Washington  was  cold  and  silent,  replying  briefly  to 
President  Reed,  who  rode  with  him,  as  if  desirous  of  being 
left  free  to  commune  with  his  own  thoughts.  He  sus- 
pected something  of  the  true  state  of  the  case,  and  that  he 
had  possibly  escaped  a  snare ;  but  he  was  not  a  man  given 
to  hasty  conclusions  on  slight  premises,  and  he  knew  how 
apt  the  imagination  is  to  run  away  with  the  judgment. 
"  In  any  event,  she  repented  at  the  last,  and  the  danger 


I'l 


HI 


'Mi 


I 


28o 


PEMBERTON  J 


is  now  all  over,"  was  the  unexpressed  conclusion  to  which 
he  arrived  ;  and  though  the  subject  frequently  recurred  to 
his  mind  in  the  course  of  the  night,  his  return  to  camp 
the  next  day,  and  the  important  duties  which  there 
awaited  him,  soon  crowded  all  further  recollection  of  it, 
and  all  thoughts  of  Helen  Graham — except  at  distant  in- 
tervals—from his  mind.  What  the  fate  of  America  would 
have  been,  had  this  bold  scheme  to  capture  him  succeeded, 
we  think  hardly  admits  of  a  question.  There  was  no 
other  man  who  could  have  held  in  check  the  discordant 
factions,  united  all  in  one  vigorous  opposition  to  the  Brit- 
ish rule,  and  by  the  force  and  grasp  of  his  unequalled 
judgment  preserved  the  armies  of  the  infant  Republic  in 
the  hour  of  weakness,  and  led  them  in  the  hour  of  promise 
to  ultimate  and  enduring  triumph. 


BANNEK  OF  WASHINGTON  S  UFE  GUAXA 


'; 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO. 


38X 


issed  conclusion  to  which 
;ct  frequently  recurred  to 
ight,  his  return  to  camp 
ant  duties  which  there 
further  recollection  of  it, 
am — except  at  distant  in- 
he  fate  of  America  would 
to  capture  him  succeeded, 
luestion.  There  was  no 
i  in  check  the  discordant 
us  opposition  to  the  Brit- 
grasp  of  his  unequalled 
f  the  infant  Republic  in 
sm  in  the  hour  of  promise 


S  UEE  GUAXA 


CHAPTER  XI. 

RUNNING   THE   GAUNTLET. 

Men  arc  my  counters,  and  I  play  the  gamo 
With  red  or  blue.    My  winnings  are  the  sams 
If  red  king  conquer,  or  blue  sweep  the  board; 
All  goes  to  Diake  my  triumph  and  my  hoard. 

When  Helen  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
she  looked  as  well  and  as  blooming  as  ever.  She  expected 
an  avalanche  of  questions  from  Pemberton,  but  it  was  not 
possible  to  avoid  it,  and  therefore  she  thought  she  might 
as  well  meet  the  onset  at  once,  and  have  it  over.  Scarcely- 
had  she  and  Isabella  taken  their  seats,  than  Arthur  began. 

'<  I  am-delighted  to  see  you  looking  so  well  again,  Miss 
Helen.  I  feared  last  night  that  you  were  about  having  an 
attack  of  some  serious  illness." 

"I  feel  pretty  well  again,  Arthur,  thank  you,"  replied 
Helen.  "Do  you  think  it  will  rain  to-day?  It  is  very 
cloudy." 

"  It  does  look  lowering.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it 
rained  cats  and  dogs,  or  '-'ven  snakes,"  added  he,  smiling. 

Helen  had  managed  up-stairs  to  avoid  an  explanation 
with  her  sister,  but  now  Isabella  broke  in : 

"Of  all  ridiculous  things,  Helen,  the  idea  that  you 
should  faint  at  seeing  a  snake!  I  would  not  believe  it, 
unless — unless — " 

"The  snake  were  to  tell  you  so,"  added  Arthur,  now 
laughing  outright. 

"I  don't  see,  Bella,  why  I  should  not  have  the  privilege 
of  fainting  at  the  sight  of  a  snake — a  very  h'.^  one — " 

"  A  perfect  anaconda,  with  horns,"  interrupted  Pember- 
ton. 

24* 


'1^1 


•5'   ^ 


;m 


282 


rKMIiKUTON  ; 


"Just  the  same  as  other  young  ladies,"  continued  Helen 
demurely,  finishing  her  sentence. 

"Nonsense,  Helen,  how  can  you  be  so  absurd!"  ex- 
claimed her  sister,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  1  overheard  a  young  lady  say?" 
asked  Pemberton. 

"  I  have  not  the  least  wish  to  hear  any  of  the  idle  gos- 
sip of  a  ball-room,"  replied  Helen,  with  dignity. 

"  She  said  she  did  not  believe  you  had  seen  any  snake; 
that  you  had  been  trying  to  attract  the  General's  attention 
all  the  evening,  and  simply  fainted,  in  order  to  have  him 
carry  you  in  his  arms  into  the  house." 

Helen  straightened  herself  up  indignantly.  "If  that 
young  lady  will  tell  me  that  to  my  face,  I-will  box  her  ears 
for  her,"  exclaimed  she,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"That  would  never  do,  Helen  ;  every  one  then  would 
be  certain  that  you  had  not  fainted  at  the  mere  sight  of  a 

snake." 

"  Arthur,  there  is  no  use  in  teasing  Helen  any  more," 
said  Isabella  appealingly.  "  She  is  too  sensible  a  girl  to 
faint  for  nothing ;  and  if  she  does  not  choose  to  tell  us, 
why  I,  for  one,  am  very  well  content  to  know  nothmg 

about  it."  ,       ,  J 

Helen  was  sitting  next  to  her  sister,  and  at  these  words 
she  put  one  arm  around  her,  and  leaned  over  and  kissed 
her.  "Bella,  you  are  a  perfect  woman,"  she  said  fondly, 
"  and  I'm  only  sorry  there  is  not  a  man  in  the  world  who 
even  begins  to  be  worthy  of  you." 

"That  is  so!"  said  Mrs.  Pemberton  heartily,  who  had 
been  employed  in  pouring  out  the  coffee  and  chocolate. 

"  My  own  opinion  also,  to  a  notch,"  added  Pemberton. 

"  And  Isabella  is  perfectly  right  as  to  your  teasing  Helen, 
Arthur,"  continued  Mrs.  Pemberton. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  mother,"  replied  Arthur 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


283 


adies,"  continued  Helen 

you  be  so  absurd!"  ex- 

ntly. 

ard  a  young  lady  say?" 

lear  any  of  the  idle  gos- 

n,  with  dignity. 

you  had  seen  any  snake ; 

t  the  General's  attention 

:d,  in  order  to  have  him 

use." 

indignantly.     "  If  that 
y  face,  I-will  box  her  ears 

flashing. 

n  ;  every  one  then  would 
ed  at  the  mere  sight  of  a 

easing  Helen  any  more," 
e  is  too  sensible  a  girl  to 
DCS  not  choose  to  tell  us, 
;ontent  to  know  nothing 

sister,  and  at  these  words 
d  leaned  over  and  kissed 
ivoman,"  she  said  fondly, 
:  a  man  in  the  world  who 
>> 

berton  heartily,  who  had 

le  coffee  and  chocolate. 

otch,"  added  Pemberton. 

t  as  to  your  teasing  Helen, 

rton. 

mother,"  replied  Arthur 


laughing.  "  But  I  really  believe  myself,  that  Helen  was 
decidedly  smitten  with  Washington,  and  he  with  her ;  and 
if  he  were  a  younger  man,  and  there  was  no  Mrs.  Wash- 
ington—and plenty  of  snakes— there  is  no  telling  what 
might   happen."      Arthur  seemed  to  enjoy  the  matter 

hugely. 

>'  I  was  very  much  pleased  with  General  Washington, 
Indeed,"  said  Helen,  with  dignity.  "  I  thought  him  one 
of  the  grandest  and  noblest  men  I  had  ever  seen,  and  I 
felt  honored  that  he  seemed  to  like  me." 

"  Oh,  my  !  what  are  we  coming  to?"  cried  Pemberton. 
"  Such  a  good  Tory  as  you  used  to  be,  Helen,  and  he  the 
very  head  and  chief  of  Rebels.  What  would  Captain 
Andr6  say?" 

"Captain!    Major,   if   you    please,"   replied    Helen, 

proudly. 

"Major,  indeed!  why  who  told  you  that,  Helen?" 
asked  Pemberton. 

"A  little  bird  brought  me  the  news." 

"Are  you  certain  it  was  not  the  snake?  Well,  lam 
very  glad  to  hear  it ;  but  what  would  the  gallant  Major 
say,  to  hear  you  talk  thus  of  the  chief  of  the  Rebels?" 

"  I  regret  very  much  indeed  that  General  Washington 
is  a  rebel,"  said  Helen. 

"And  so  do  I,"  joined  in  Mrs.  Perftberton. 

"But  rebel  as  he  is,"  continued  Helen,  "mistaken  as 
he  is  in  that  one  great  respect,  I  should  be  false  to  my- 
self, if  I  did  not  confess  the  very  highest  respect  and  ad- 
miration for  him.  And  if  John  Andre  knew  him,  I  am 
sure  he  would  say  the  same. ' ' 

"  I  will  not  tease  you  any  more  after  that,  Helsn,"  said 
Pemberton;  "  I  really  have  not  the  heart  to  do  it.  Only 
admire  Washington,  and  you  may  faint  at  all  the  snakes 


i,  :i 


284 


rK.MI'.EUTON  ; 


at  Springettsbury;  all  of  which  I  expect  couid  be  put  into 
a  good -sized  thimble." 

Tlie  conversation  here  diverged  in  another  direction, 
and  Helen,  having  run  the  gauntlet,  was  allowed  to  rest 
in  peace.  Those  who  know  what  most  family  gauntlets 
are,  may  think  she  got  off  very  easily.  But  not  every 
Helen  lias  a  sister  like  Isabella,  to  speak  the  right,  sisterly 
word  at  the  right  time  for  her.  Oh,  ye  brave  and  kindly 
hearts  that  read  this,  will  you  not  oftener  imitate  Isabella ; 
and  interpose  your  shield  when  some  unfortunate  sister  or 
brother  is  running  the  family  gauntlet  ? 

Breakfast  over,  Helen  felt  that  she  must  try  to  see  Cap- 
tain Fanny.  No  arrangement  had  been  made  for  such  a 
meeting,  but  she  had  little  doubt  she  would  find  her  at 
Mrs.  Malonc's,  as  usual ;  and  as  the  lowering  clouds  had 
lightened,  and  gave  every  indication  of  breaking  away, 
she  donned  her  street  attire,  and  leaving  the  house  by  the 
garden,  proceeded  down  to  South  street. 

Mrs.  Malone  was,  as  before,  in  front  of  the  house.  She 
did  not  receive  Helen  with  her  usual  good-humored  smile 
and  salutation,  but  appeared  to  eye  her  rather  suspiciously. 
To  her  question  if  Fanny  were  at  home,  she  answered  in 
the  negative— but  said  that  Fanny's  mother,  who  had 
come  to  town  for  a  few  days,  was  inside,  and  perhaps 
could  tell  her  how  soon  she  would  be  in. 

As  Helen  entered,  she  saw  the  old  lady  in  question  sit- 
ting by  the  fire,  as  if  its  heat  were  pleasant  to  her  aged 
frame,  though  the  morning  was  rather  warm  than  other- 
wise. She  seemed  a  much  older  woman  than  Mrs.  Ma- 
lone—the  thin  gray  locks  straggling  out  from  under  her 
white  cap,  while  her  form  was  bent,  and  she  moved  feebly 
and  as  if  with  pain. 

"  Will  Fanny  soon  be  in  ?"  inquired  Helen. 


OR,    ONE    THINDRF.n    YF.ARS   AOO. 


»8S 


expect  could  be  put  into 

;d  in  another  direction, 
tlet,  was  allowed  to  rest 
at  most  family  gauntlets 
r  easily.     But  not  every 

0  speak  the  right,  sisterly 
Oh,  ye  brave  and  kindly 
:  oftener  imitate  Isabella  j 
ome  unfortunate  sister  or 
intlet  ? 

she  must  try  to  see  Cap- 
ad  been  made  for  such  a 
bt  she  would  find  her  at 
i  the  lowering  clouds  had 
:ation  of  breaking   away, 

leaving  the  house  by  the 
h  street. 

1  front  of  the  house.  She 
isual  good-humored  smile 
ye  her  rather  suspiciously. 
It  home,  she  answered  in 
anny's  mother,  who  had 

was  inside,  and  perhaps 
Id  be  in. 

e  old  lady  in  question  sit- 
rere  pleasant  to  her  aged 

rather  warm  than  other- 
er  woman  than  Mrs.  Ma- 
gling  out  from  under  her 
ent,  and  she  moved  feebly 

iquired  Helen. 


"And  is  it  you,  me  swate,  that  is  Miss  Hilen  Gra'me?" 
asked  the  old  woman. 

"I  am  Helen  Graham." 

"Will,  me  swate,  Fanny  lift  a  missage  for  ye.  She 
wants  to  know,  me  swate,  be  you  playin'  her  true,  or  be 
ye  playin'  her  false?" 

"  How  dare  she  tell  you  to  ask  me  such  a  question  as' 
♦hat?"  replied  Helen,  indignantly. 

"  Don't  get  angry  now,  me  swate,"said  the  old  woman, 
in  a  thin,  tremulous  voice;  "but,  after  the  last  night, 
Fanny  says  she's  afeard  of  you.  An*  she  wint  off,  list  you 
should  sind  a  file  of  sogers  for  her  this  mornin'." 

"  She  is  not  in  the  least  danger,"  answered  Helen,  her 
sincerity  expressing  itself  in  every  tone  and  feature;  "I 
am  not  in  the  habit  of  betraying  people.  Tell  her  that 
she  might  be  sure  of  that,  after  last  night." 

"  I  will  till  her  at  wunst — for  sure  an'  I  b'lave  she's  jist 
up-stairs,  my  swate,"  said  the  old  woman ;  and  she  rose 
from  her  seat,  and  made  her  way  up  the  stairs,  with  rather 
more  agility  than  Helen  had  thought  possible  in  one  ap- 
parently so  infirm  and  decrepid. 

Some  time  elapsed,  and  as  Helen  heard  only  one  person 
moving  about  in  the  room  above,  and  no  murmured  conver- 
sation, she  began  to  wonder  at  the  delay,  and  question 
whether  Fanny  really  were  in  the  house.  But  at  length  a 
step  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  Fanny  herself  came  trip- 
ping down,  attired  as  she  waswhen  Helen  had  first  seen  her. 

"  And  so  you  were  afraid  I  had  betrayed  you,  Fanny  F*, 
cried  Helen,  in  a  half-chiding,  half-reproachful  tone. 

"  It  is  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  my  leddy— and  you 
broke  your  promise  to  the  party." 

"  There  was  nothing  said  about  drugging,  Fanny.  I 
could  not  sit  still  and  see  so  noble  a  man  poisoned  like 
a  rat." 


i! 


% 


»96 


PEMBF.RTON  J 


"He  is  a  very  strong  man,  my  Icddy— and  would  give 
half  a  dozen  of  the  boys  a  dale  of  trouble  to  manage,"  re- 

•    plied  Fanny.     And  then  as  if  with  a  sudden  thought  she 
adde*-"  besides,  my  leddy,  you  were  mistaken,  thatwmc 

,,  was  jliHg^good,  innocent  wine  as  Ave  ever  gave  to  Adam 
inA(Jei."  ,     ,     , 

^;f  "1^^'  '■'^'^'^  y°"  '"^^"'  ^'^^"'  ^^  ^^'^^  warnmg 

yoljpveme?" 

"  Bless  your  heart,  my  leddy,  I  gave  you  no  look  of 
warnin'-^  only  looked  to  say  it  was  time  for  your  leddy- 
ship  to  git  hold  of  the  Ginral's  sword,"  and  Fanny  gazed 
straight  into  Helen's  eyes,  with  that  look  of  perfect  inno- 
cence which  some  unwise  people  say  that  guilt  cannot 

counterfeit. 

Helen  of  course  believed  that  Fanny  was  lymg  to  her, 
but  she  saw  no  use  in  trying  to  make  Fanny  admit  it.  She 
had  had  sufficient  experience  of  that  kind  of  people, 
to  know  that  it  would  be  labor  wasted.     So  she  smiply 

said,  ,. 

"  Did  any  one  recognize  you  in  your  negro  disguise, 

Fanny?"  ,      ,.        ,,_, 

•'  Niver  a  one  of  them,"  replied  Fanny,  laughing.  "Oh, 
but  it  was  capital  divarsion.  Half  a  dozen  of  them  officers 
knew  me-and  the  Ginral  himself-but  not  one  of  them 
had  ever  seen  me  as  a  man,  to  say  nothing  of  a  nagiir." 

'<  When  I  met  you  here  that  day,  dressed  up  like  a  man, 
I  was  not  quite  certain  for  a  little  while  myself,  whether 
you  were  a  man  or  a  woman.  But  I  see  now  that  you  are 
really  one  of  my  own  quick-witted  sex."  ^^ 

"Yes,  indade,  an'  I  should  scorn  to  be  anything  else, 
■     cried  Fanny,  with  quite  a  show  of  feminine  dignity. 

"I  suppose  however,  you  find  your  masculine  garb  at 
times  a  great  convenience  as  well  as  safeguard." 

"  Yes,  my  leddy,  and  that  is  the  only  raison  that  could 


on; 

ny  Icddy— and  would  give 
of  trov'ole  to  manage,"  rc- 
with  a  sudden  thought  she 
auwere  mistaken,  that  wine 
as  Ave  ever  gave  to  Adam 

I,  by  that  look  of  warning 

y,  I  gave  you  no  look  of 
it  was  time  for  your  leddy- 
sword,"  and  Fanny  gazed 
.  that  look  of  iicrfect  inno- 
Dple  say  that  guilt  cannot 

,t  Fanny  was  lying  to  her, 

make  Fanny  admit  it.    She 

;  of  that  kind  of  people, 

)or  wasted.     So  she  simply 

)u  in  your  negro  disguise, 

ied  Fanny, laughing.  "Oh, 
lalf  a  dozen  of  them  officers 
self— but  not  one  of  them 

say  nothing  of  a  nagur." 

day,  dressed  up  like  a  man, 
little  while  myself,  whether 

But  I  see  now  that  you  are 
ittedsex." 

scorn  to  be  anything  else," 
iv  of  feminine  dignity, 
find  your  masculine  garb  at 
veil  as  safeguard." 
is  the  only  raison  that  could 


OR,   ONE   UrNnRTD  YEARS  AC.O. 


a87 


induce  me  to  wear  it.  It  half  breaks  my  heart  at  times — 
my  motlesty  is  so  shocked,  my  leddy." 

"I  should  think  it  would  be,"  replied  Helen  sympa- 
thiiingly.     "  Do  you  go  soon  to  New  York  again?" 

"  In  two  or  tliree  days,  my  Icddy.  What  shall  I  tell 
them  about  the  plan's  failing?" 

"■lell  them  1  found  that  I  was  not  the  right  stuff  to 
make  a  Judith  of.  But  I  will  write  to— to  him,  and  tell 
him  myself  all  about  it.  I'll  bring  the  letter  to-ujorrow  or 
next  day," 

"  1  don't  think,  mysilf,  you're  the  right  stuff  to  make  a 
Judy  of,"  said  Fanny  with  emphasis.  "  And  yit  it  was  a 
splendiferous  plan.  But  then  it  would  o'  made  an  ind  of 
the  war,  and  that  would  been  bad." 

•"Bad!"  exclaimed  Hflen. 

"  I  only  u\ane  it  would  put  an  ind  to  a  great  dale  of  fun," 
said  Fanny  thou,;htfully. 

"  It  is  the  kind  of  fun  I  should  like  to  put  an  end  to,'* 
replied  Helen  earnestly,  rising  to  leave. 

"  Yes,  my  leddy,  no  doubt  you  are  right.  It's  a  terrible 
state  of  affairs ;  men  killin'  and  slaughterin'  each  other, 
jist  like  so  many  hogs,"  rejoined  the  easily  converted 
Fanny. 

It  was  as  much  as  the  Captain  could  do,  to  restrain  his 
mirth  until  Helen  had  got  beyond  hearing  disiance,  after 
her  departure.  As  he  rehearsed  in  memory  her  feminine 
expressions  of  sympathy,  he  was  delighted  beyond  measure. 
If  it  had  been  a  man,  or  a  woman  of  his  own  social  rank, 
whom  he  had  thus  egregiously  deceived,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  vastly  delighted,  but  Miss  Helen  Graham,  whom 
every  one  knew  to  be  renov/ned  as  much  for  her  wit  us  for 
her  beauty,  a  woman  of  women,  to  have  passed  himself  off 
on  her  first  as  an  old,  and  then  again  as  a  young  wo.nan, 
in  the  course  of  a  single  hour,  this  was  a  feather  in  the 


*!**-»-' 


t 


tSS 


pfmufrton; 


Captain's  cap   iiulccd,  of  which  h«  was  proud  beyond 

measure.  ,♦»    i  •     ^       u. 

As  to  the  fliilurc  of  the  plan  to  capture  Washington,  h. 
cared  very  Utile  about  it ;  for  it  had,  as  we  have  shown, 
from  his  point  of  view,  its  bad  as  well  as  its  good  side. 
Why  Helen  had  acted  as  she  had,  now  that  it  was  evident 
she  had  not  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  pu/,/le<l  the  Captain 
not  a  little.     It   might  be  that  she  hail  taken  a  sudden 
fancy  to  Washington-women  often  did  such  thmgs.     Or 
she  might  really  have  seen  a  snake,  and  been  scared  out  of 
her  senses  by  it-the  bravest  of  women  were  such  cowards. 
But,  whatever  was  the  explanation,  it  made,  as  we  have 
H.-iid,  but  little  difference  to  the  Captain.     He  had  been 
paid  well,  and  had  got  through  scot-free,  and  that  was 
enough  for  him.     What  now  was  to  be  the  next  game  on 
the  table?     Another  plan  to  capture  Washington,  or  one 
on  the  other  side  to  bag  Sir  Henry  Clinton?     It  mattered 
but  little  to  the  Captain  what  it  was,  so  it  did  not  touch 
Major  Andr6,  and  one  or  two  others  on  the  British  side, 
and  about  as  many  on  the  American.     Whichever  party 
succeeded,  he  meant  to  win.     The  war  was  a  piece  o 
nonsense  all  around,  like  a  fight  at  Donnybrook  Pair.    But 
it  was  capital  sport  for  all  that,  and  afforded  great  room 
for  the  display  of  the  Captain's  peculiar  genms-including 
his  theatrical  ability,  his  readiness  at  lying,  and  his  almost 
perfect  impartiality  between  the  contending  Parties      In 
the  Captain's  view,  although  he  never  had  rea-l  Shak- 
speare,  the  world  was  but  a  stage, 

"  And  aU  the  men  and  women  merely  playen." 


.    ,1 


on; 

ch  he  was  proud  bcyotnl 

to  capture  Washington,  hi- 
it  had,  as  wc  have  sliown, 
I  as  well  as  its  good  side. 
id,  now  that  it  was  evident 
nemy,  puzzled  the  Captain 
at  she  had  taken  a  sudden 
often  did  such  things.     Or 
ake,  and  been  scared  out  of 
'women  were  such  cowards, 
ation,  it  made,  as  wc  have 
he  Captain.     He  had  been 
igh  scot-free,  and  that  was 
vas  to  be  the  next  game  on 
rapture  Washington,  or  one 
cnry  Clinton?     It  mattered 
;  it  was,  so  it  did  not  touch 

others  on  the  British  side, 
merican.  Whichever  party 
The  war  was  a  piece  of 
iit  at  Donnybrook  Fair,  But 
at,  and  afforded  great  room 
s  peculiar  genius— including 
ness  at  lying,  and  his  almost 
the  contending  parties.     In 

he  never  had  rea<l  Shak- 
age, 

men  merely  playert." 


OR,   ONE   HUNDREU   YKAKS  A(iO.  289 


CHAPTliR      XII. 

PLANNING  TREASON. 

"  Whatc'er  h  liiiman,  lo  the  humnii  being 
•  Do  I  uIIdw— ;uiil  ici  llic  vehement 

And  striving  Hpirll  readily  1  pardon 

The  exuc'i!!  iif  ucti'in.    •    •    •    • 

Uut  nut  to  the  iruitur  can  I  yield  a  pardon." 

—Max  in  IValltnttein. 

Through  Helen's  instrumentality,  as  we  have  said,  a 
direct  correspondence  had  been  opened  between  Major 
Andre  and  General  Arnold.  So  far,  however,  nothing 
very  important  had  come  of  it.  Arnold,  it  was  evident, 
hesitated  to  pass  the  Rubicon.  The  correspondence  was 
secret,  and  under  feigned  names,  and  he  might  withdraw 
from  it  at  any  time.  And  even  if  he  had  decided  upon 
imitating  the  example  of  General  Monk,  he  was  not  at  pre- 
sent in  a  situation  to  do  so. 

It  is  not  a  slight  matter,  even  for  a  man  naturally  bold 
and  imscrupulous,  to  desert  the  cause  to  which  he  has  at- 
tached himself,  and  the  friends  to  whom  he  is  bound  by 
ties  of  affection  and  gratitude,  and  become  a  villain  and  a 
traitor  in  their  sight.  And  Arnold  was  not  utterly  unscru- 
pulous. His  motto,  which  he  had  attached  to  the  sign 
which  he  hung  out,  when  as  a  young  man  he  coiutnenred 
the  business  of  a  druggist  at  New  Haven,  was  Sidi  Totigue, 
and  the  meaning  he  evidently  attached  to  it  was.  For  him- 
self AND  for  all.  He  was,  perhaps,  for  himself  first,  but 
he  would  rather  also  be  for  all.  .  If  he  had  to  choose  be- 
tween his  own  claims  and  the  claims  of  his  country,  which 
would  he  prefer  above  the  other  ?  That  was  not  an  en- 
tirely easy  question  to  answer — for  he  had  exposed  his 
own  life,  none  more  often,  in  his  country's  service;  and 
even  in  the  midst  of  his  great  pecuniary  difficulties  had 
25 


iite'- 


Mim.- 


1 


390 


PEMBERTON  J 


assumed  and  regularly  paid  the  expense  of  educating  Gen. 
Warren's  children.   . 

Arnold,  like  most  men  of  great  force  and  ability,  was 
too  much  of  an  enigma  to  be  deciphered  at  a  breath. 

But  his  debts  were  pressing.  He  could  see  no  way  out 
of  his  pecuniary  troubles. 

One  way— not  the  most  honovable,  and  yet  not  the 
most  dishonorable— had  suggested   itself.     And  it  had 

failed.  ,  ,  i.- 

He  had  applied  to  the  French  Minister  in  Philadelphia, 
had  stated  his  great  need,  and  requested  a  loan,  and  had 
been  politely  but  firmly  refused. 

He  had  not  said  to  the  French  Minister,  "  the  borrower 
is  servant  to  the  lender;"  but  the  French  Minister  had 
replied— though  in  kindly  terms,  for  he  was  a  great  ad^ 
mirer  of  Arnold— as  if  he  had  said  it,  and  had  declined  to 
accept  his  servitude. 

It  had  galled  Arnold  to  the  quick.  His  thoughts  re- 
verted again  with  added  impetus  to  the  British  offers.  If 
successful— a  title,  money,  high  position.  But  he  must 
dignify  these  desirable  things,  even  to  himself,  by  the  plea 
of  true  and  real  patriotism. 

The  country  was  exhausted.  Agriculture  was  depressed. 
There  was  no  trade.  The  Continental  money  still  depre- 
ciated month  by  month—'*  faster  than  a  fast  horse  could 
trot,"  was  a  commoii  saying.  Thousands  of  professed 
patriots  were  ready  to  throw  up  their  hats  and  welcome 
the  restoration  of  the  royal  rule- especially  if  coupled 
with  a  substantial  abandonment  of  the  obnoxious  British 
claims.  All  that  was  needed  to  inaugurate  a  rebellion 
against  the  rebellion  was  some  decisive  success  of  the 
British  arms.  , 

If  that  could  be  attained  without  bloodshed— as  Monk  s 
triumph  was  attained— all  the  better  ;  by  far  the  better. 


ton; 

;  expense  of  educating  Gen. 

Treat  force  and  ability,  was 

deciphered  at  a  breatli. 

,     He  could  see  no  way  out 

honoi-able,  and  yet  not  the 
gested   itself.     And  it  had 

ich  Minister  in  Philadelphia, 

id  requested  a  loan,  and  had 

;d. 

nch  Minister,  "  the  borrower 

Hit  the  French  Minister  had 

:rms,  for  he  was  a  great  ad- 

1  said  it,  and  had  declined  to 

the  quick.  His  thoughts  re- 
etus  to  the  British  offers.  If 
high  position.  But  he  must 
i,  even  to  himself,  by  the  plea 

1.  Agriculture  was  depressed. 
:ontinental  money  still  depre- 
faster  than  a  fast  horse  could 
ng.  Thousands  of  professed 
V  up  their  hats  and  welcome 
A  rule— especially  if  coupled 
lent  of  the  obnoxious  British 
ed  to  inaugurate  a  rebellion 
some  decisive  success  of  the 

without  bloodshed— as  Monk's 
le  better  j  by  far  the  better. 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   VEAKS   AGO. 


291 


And  so  a  plan  gradually  evolved  itself  in  the  dark 
depths  of  his  determined  and  sagacious  mind.  He  could 
not  have  a  separate  command  in  tlie  field — it  was  not  pos- 
sible. But  the  Hudson  river  tiivided  the  Middle  and 
Southern  States  from  the  peculiarly  rebellious  East.  The 
strong  Fortress  of  West  Point— the  Gibraltar  of  America — 
dominated  the  Hudson  river,  and  the  roads  by  whicii  the 
Eastern  and  the  Middle  States  were  united.  Could  he 
not  obtain  the  comnaand  of  West  Point— allow  himself, 
by  a  well-planned  arrangement,  to  be  surprised,  and  yield 
up  the  fort  with  its  defenders,  and  its  stores  of  military 
material,  without  bloodshed  ?  If  a  proper  time  were  cho- 
sen, this  might  also  involve  the  peaceable  surrender  of  a 
portion  of  the  allied  French  and  American  army. 

On  the  heels  of  such  a  blow,  which  would  naturally  dis- 
hearten the  most  ardent  patriot,  let  the  British  commander 
offer  the  most  liberal  and  generous  terms — a  full  pardon 
to  all,  and  everything,  in  fact,  except  independence. 
Then  he,  Arnold,  could  come  out  in  a  manifesto  to  his 
countrymen,  urging  them,  as  the  part  of  true  wisdom,  to 
accept  the  British  offers ;  himself,  for  one,  accepting  them. 
Other  officers,  with  whom  he  should  have  made  interest, 
would  follow  suit ;  the  Continental  troops  would  desert ; 
the  rebellion  rapidly  melt  away;  and  in  one  month's 
time,  perhaps,  the  French  army  be  forced  to  capitulate, 
and  the  British  rule  be  fully  re-established. 

If  the  affair  were  well  managed  and  successful,  he  might 
possibly  be  suspected  by  a  few,  but  they  would  be  careful 
to  conceal  their  suspicions.  What  rewards  should  be 
heaped  upon  his  head  by  the  British  Ministry,  would  be 
naturally  accounted  for  by  his  being  the  first  officer  of  high 
rank  to  abandon  the  American  cause,  and  to  renew  his 
allegiance.  Washington  would,  of  course,  be  made  Vice- 
roy, if  he  did  not  hold  out  too  long,  and  were  willing  to 


',1 


292 


PEMBERTON  ; 


accept  the  position.  But  he  would  not  accept  it— any 
one  well  acquainted  with  his  character  could  foretell  that. 
Who,  then,  more  likely  to  be  made  Viceroy  than  the  man 
who  had  planned  the  whole  movement,  and  brought  it,  by 
his  daring  and  sagacious  course,  to  a  triumphant  issue? 

So  Arnold  reasoned— and  almost  grasped  in  his  imagi- 
nation at  times,  a  King's  delegated  sceptre. 

His  need  of  money,  his  ambition,  his  love  for  his  young 
wife,  all  tempted  him.  His  hatred  of  Congress,  his  Court 
Martial,  his  fierce  anger  at  the  apparent  contempt  mani- 
fested for  him  and  his  services,  all  urged  him  on.  What 
held  him  back?  Honor— faithfulness  to  his  friends,  and 
especiallv  to  Washington,  whg  had  always  been  a  friend 
in  his  hour  of  trouble— the  natural  dislike  of  a  brave  man 
to  change  side— the  fear  of  possible  failure,  and  of  the 
utter  contempt  in  which  he  would  then  be  held,  especially 
if  his  countrymen  ultimately  succeeded  in  the  contest- 
all  these  considerations  held  him  to  the  narrow  path  of 

duty.  ,       , ,       .  ,  ^ 

Why  was  it  the  path  of  Duty  ?  Had  not  Arnold  a  right 
to  change  his  mind,  and  act  in  accordance  with  that 
change?  If  any  British  officer  had  become  convinced 
that  the  cause  of  the  Colonies  was  right  and  just,  would 
it  have  been  wrong  in  him  to  desert  the  British  flag,  and 
fight  thereafter  under  the  American  banner?  Had  not 
General  Charles  Lee  done  this  with  the  universal  acclaim 
of  the  most  honorable  men  in  the  Colonies? 

We  answer  that  General  Arnold  had  a  perfect  right  to 
change  his  mind,  and  to  act  in  accordance  with  his  new 
convictions.  But,  before  moving  a  step,  he  should  have 
resigned  his  commission  in  the  Continental  Army.  Honor 
required  that  he  should  be  "offwitl  the  old  love,  before 
he  was  on  with  the  new. ' '  When  his  resignation  had  been 
accepted,  he  was  once  more  a  free  man- and  had  the  same 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


293 


vould  not  accept  it — any 
iracter  could  foretell  that, 
ide  Viceroy  than  the  man 
remcnt,  and  brought  it,  by 

to  a  triumphant  issue  ? 
lost  grasped  in  his  imagi- 
ted  sceptre. 

ion,  his  love  for  his  young 
red  of  Congress,  his  Court 

apparent  contempt  mani- 
,  all  urged  him  on.  What 
fulness  to  his  friends,  and 
had  always  been  a  friend 
ral  dislike  of  a  brave  man 
ossible  failure,  and  of  the 
lid  then  be  held,  especially 
icceeded  in  the  contest — 
lira  to  the  narrow  path  of 

?    Had  not  Arnold  a  right 
in   accordance   with  that 
:r  had  become  convinced 
was  right  and  just,  would 
desert  the  British  flag,  and 
lerican  banner?    Had  not 
with  the  universal  acclaim 
the  Colonies? 
old  had  a  perfect  right  to 
n  accordance  with  his  new 
ing  a  step,  he  should  have 
Continental  Army.   Honor 
[f  witl    the  old  love,  before 
len  his  resignation  had  been 
ree  man — ^and  had  the  same 


right  to  join  the  British  forces  as  Beverly  Robinson  and 
thousands  of  others,  whose  persons  were  always  held  sacred 
when  captured  by  their  offended  countrymen. 

But  all  men  hate  a  Traitor.  Even  those  that  love  and 
profit  by  the  Treason,  can  hardly  avoid  hating  the  Traitor. 
For,  even  if  the  cause  be  good  which  his*  treason  serves, 
he  injures  another  and  far  greater  cause — the  common 
trust  and  faith  of  man  in  man — so  deeply,  that  the  evil 
done  to  universal  man  far  transcends  the  little  benefit  that 
he  may  confer  upon  a  few.  For  without  that  common 
faith  and  trust,  how  shall  human  society  be  held  together? 
Even  a  band  of  robbers  cannot  exist  without  it.  And 
how  shall  communities  and  kingdoms  exist,  and  make 
treaties  of  peace  and  commerce  with  each  other,  if  treason 
be  not  considered  one  of  the  greatest  crimes  that  man  can 
commit  against  man  ?  Human  nature  instinctively  revolts 
from  it,  as  from  a  violation  of  one  of  nature's  most  sacred 
laws — a  spiritual  law  of  gravitation  and  human  cohesion. 

But  it  is  one  of  the  many  curious  contradictions — gen- 
erally more  apparent  than  real — which  meet  us  in  life,  that 
while  all  men  agree  in  this,  they  also  generally  agree  that 
it  is  perfectly  allowable  to  profit  by  treason  done  to  an 
avowed  enemy.  Just  as  even  an  honorable  man,  if  a  mil- 
itary commander,  hesitates  not  to  deceive  the  foe  by  false 
reports,  cunningly  devised  letters,  insidious  actions,  so  he 
also  profits  by  the  use  of  spies,  and  even  by  the  perjuries 
of  traitors,  if  he  can.  Washington  was  one  of  the  most 
honorable  of  men,  but  he  never  scrupled  to  use  all  these 
means;  though  no  treason  to  the  British,  on  anything  like 
so  large  a  scale  as  that  of  Arnold's,  ever  offered  itself  to 
his  acceptance.  If  it  had,  there  is  little  doubt  that  how- 
ever much  he  might  have  despised  the  traitor,  he  would 
have  felt  it  his  duty  to  accept  the  treason.  In  fact,  the 
employment  of  spies  involves  nearly  the  same  principle. 
25* 


204  PEMBERTON  J 

Each  party  in  the  Revolution,  as  in  all  wa.s,  hung  a  spy 
when  caught,  almost  on  sight,  and  without  compunction — 
and  each  party  employed  spies  by  the  score,  if  not  by  the 
hundreds.  What  a  curious  inconsistency !  to  hang  men 
for  that  which  you  are  daily  hiring  other  men  to  perform, 
and  which  you  are  honoring  souie,  like  Captain  Hale,  for 
doing  I 

But,  as  we  have  said,  these  contradictions  which  wc 
find  in  life — and  even  more  especially  in  the  concentrated 
life  of  war — are  more  apparent  than  real.     In  war  the  two 
parties  agree,  as  it  were,  to  deceive  each  other,  to  a  certain 
extent.     Each  General  deceives  his  opponent  by  false  pre- 
tences of  various  kinds — this  is  lawful ;  it  is  in  accordance 
with  the  rules  of  the  game.     He  may  even  ask  to  treat  for 
a  surrender,  his  real  object  being  not  to  surrender  at  all, 
but  merely  to  gain  time.    But  when  he  deals  directly  with 
the  enemy,  he  must  adhere  strictly  to  his  plighted  word. 
He  says  it  is  my  right  to  employ  spies.     It  is  your  privi- 
lege to  shoot  or  hang  them,  if  you  can.     If  I  can  seduce 
any  of  your  officers  from  his  duty,  I  shall  certainly  do  so. 
Of  course  you  will  hang  him,  if  you  find  him  out.     But 
when  I  say  in  so  many  words  to  you,  that  I  will  agree  to  a 
certain  thing,  be  it  a  truce,  a  capitulation,  a  guarantee  of 
safety,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  then  I  will  hold  to  my  word, 
though  the  earth  quake  and  the  heavens  fall.     And  this  is 
the  rock  of  Trust  in  the  midst  of  the  false  and  treacherous 
waves  of  war.     And  the  falseness,  and  treachery,  and  lying, 
and  deceit,  are  in  a  manner  justified,  for  they  are  mutually 
understood  to  be  allowable  in  this  terrible  and  deadly 
game. 


I 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


295 


i  in  all  wa-.s,  hung  a  spy 
I  without  compunction — 
/  the  score,  if  not  by  the 
nsistency !  to  hang  men 
g  other  men  to  perform, 
e,  like  Captain  Hale,  for 

contradictions  which  we 
:ially  in  the  concentrated 
lan  real.     In  war  the  two 
re  each  other,  to  a  certain 
his  opponent  by  false  pre- 
Lwful ;  it  is  in  accordance 
may  even  ask  to  treat  for 
g  not  to  surrender  at  all, 
len  he  deals  directly  with 
:tly  to  his  plighted  word. 
Y  spies.     It  is  your  privi- 
f^ou  can.     If  I  can  seduce 
y,  I  shall  certainly  do  so. 
f  you  find  him  out.     But 
you,  that  I  will  agree  to  a 
ipitulation,  a  guarantee  of 
en  I  will  hold  to  my  word, 
heavens  fall.     And  this  is 
F  the  false  and  treacherous 
,  and  treachery,  and  lying, 
ified,  for  they  are  mutually 
this  terrible  and  deadly 


PART  III. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  CHANGE    OF    SCENE. 

If  so  thou  playest  with  edged  tools,  beware 
Sharp  edge  and  treacherous  point. 

The  Autumn  season  of  1 780  had  come,  and  the  trees 
along  the  magnificent  Hudson  were  beginning  to  array 
themselves  in  their  yellow  and  crimson  robes,  when  two 
gentlemen  sat  conversing  in  the  private  office  attached  to 
the  headquarters  of  the  British  Commander,  in  the  city  of 
New  York. 

The  war  was  still  undetermined.  The  British  forces  had 
apparently  succeeded  in  reducing  to  subjection  the  Caro- 
linas  and  Georgia.  Gates  had  been  defeated  at  Camden, 
and  the  laurels  awarded  to  him,  but  not  fairly  won,  at 
Saratoga,  stripped  from  his  brow ;  though  the  gallantry  of 
the  regular  troops  from  Delaware  and  Maryland,  led  by 
the  brave  but  unfortunate  De  Kalb,  had  maintained  the 
honor  of  the  Continental  arms.  The  allied  French  and 
American  forces  had  also  made  a  second  failure,  their 
attack  on  Savannah  being  repulsed ;  one  portion  of  the 
French  fleet  soon  afterwards  setting  sail  for  home,  and  the 
other  for  the  West  Indies. 

Affairs  were  not  looking  bright  for  the  States.  Their 
army  was  small,  and  they  had  no  money  but  the  Conti- 
nental currency,  the  depreciation  of  which  had  become 
fearful.  Seventy  dollars  now  in  paper  would  go  no  fur- 
ther than  one  in  silver.  And  when  it  is  considered  that 
not  only  provisions  and  all  the  munitions  of  war  were  to 


296 


PEMBERTON  ; 


be  purchased  with  such  a  currency,  but  that  the  troops 
were  to  be  paid  with  it  at  its  legal  vah;e,  it  is  wonderful 
how  the  first  could  be  obtained  at  all,  and  how  the  army 
could  be  kept  together.  It  required  four  months'  pay  of 
a  private  to  buy  a  bushel  of  wheat,  and  a  common  laborer 
could  earn  four  times  the  pay  of  an  officer.  Of  course 
those  officers  who  had  not  private  means,  could  not  keep 
up  an  appearance  suitable  to  their  rank ;  and  cases  were 
not  unfrequent  when  officers  would  live  on  bread  and 
cheese,  rather  than  take  their  share  of  meat  from  their 
men's  scanty  allowance. 

That  mutiny  and  desertion  in  such  a  state  of  affairs 
should  become  common,  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  That 
a  large  proportion  of  the  community  should  become  dis- 
heartened, and  ready  for  peace  on  any  terms,  is  what  might 
naturally  have  been  expected.  Who  can  wonder  that 
Washington  should  write  at  that  time  to  those  who  had  his 
confidence — ' '  The  prospect  is  gloomy.  The  storm  threat- 
ens. Now  is  the  decisive  moment.  I  have  almost  ceased 
to  hope." 

There  was  a  probability  of  France  and  Spain  becoming 
discouraged,  laying  the  blame  of  the  repeated  failures  of 
the  allied  arms  on  the  Colonies,  and  making  a  separate 
peace  with  England.  New  York  had  been  menaced  by.  a 
combined  attack,  but  the  arrival  of  Sir  George  Rodney's 
fleet  had  given  the  British  again  the  superiority  at  sea,  and 
the  attack  was  postponed. 

At  this  juncture,  a  great  success  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
might  virtually  decide  the  contest.  For  if  the  States  were 
exhausted,  England  was  tired  and  disheartened  by  the 
stubborn  resistance  she  had  met  with.  She  had  found 
foemen  worthy  of  her  steel— chips  off"  her  own  tough 
British  block— and  the  boast  that  a  few  thousand  British 
regulars  could  march  through  America  from  one  end  to 


OR,   ONE  HtJNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


297 


cy,  but  that  the  troops 
;al  vah;e,  it  is  wonderful 
:  all,  and  how  the  army 
red  four  months*  pay  of 
,  and  a  common  laborer 
f  an  officer.  Of  course 
:  means,  could  not  keep 
;ir  rank  ;  and  cases  were 
uld  live  on  bread  and 
lare  of  meat  from  their 

such  a  state  of  affairs 
I  be  wondered  at.  That 
iiity  should  become  dis- 
any  terms,  is  what  might 
Who  can  wonder  that 
ime  to  those  who  had  his 
omy.  The  storm  threat- 
t.     I  have  almost  ceased 

nee  and  Spain  becoming 

"  the  repeated  failures  of 

and  making  a  separate 

had  been  menaced  by.  a 

of  Sir  George  Rodney's 

the  superiority  at  sea,  and 

i  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
t.  For  if  the  States  were 
ind  disheartened  by  the 
:t  with.  She  had  found 
hips  off  her  own  tough 
lat  a  few  thousand  British 
merica  from  one  end  to 


the  other,  was  riddled  by  the  guns  that  tore  the  ranks  of 
the  adventurous  liurgoyne. 

All  these  facts,  and  tlie  exact  situation  of  affairs,  were 
well  understood  by  the  two  gentlemen  to  whom  we  have 
alluded ;  for  one  of  them  was  our  old  acquaintance,  Cap- 
tain Andre — now  however  Major,  and  Adjutant-General 
of  the  British  army — while  the  other  was  his  commander, 
as  well  as  patron  and  friend.  Sir  Henry  Clinton. 

"You  have  everything  prepared  for  your  trip,  Major,  I 
suppose?"  asked  Sir  Henry,  a  short  and  rather  corpulent 
man,  with  a  round  face  and  prominent  nose — not  a  hand- 
some man,  by  any  means,  though  his  countenance  indi- 
cated the  possession  of  much  kindness  and  amiability. 

"  Yes,  Sir  Henry ;  I  am  ready  to  start  by  to-morrow, 
early. ' ' 

"I  am  almost  disposed  to  forbid  it,  even  at  this  last 
moment,"  said  his  Commander.  "Were  it  not  for  Ar- 
nold's almost  peremptory  demand  that  you,  or  some  other 
officer  of  his  own  mensuration,  should  meet  him  person- 
ally to  arrange  matters,  I  would  forbid  it.  It  not  only 
involves  danger  to  you,  but  may  provoke  suspicion  and 
inquiry." 

"  I  beg  that  your  Excellency  will  not  think  of  the  dan- 
ger to  me,"  returned  Andr6  proudly.  "I  am  a  soldier, 
and  prepared  to  take  the  risks  of  a  soldier's  life,  in  the 
way  of  my  duty." 

"One  thing  must  be  understood,  however,  fully  and 
clearly,"  replied  his  General.  "  There  is  to  be  no  going 
into  the  enemy's  lines,  no  assuming  of  a  disguise,  no  car- 
rying of  important  papers.  You  know  how  careful  I  was 
as  to  this  last,  in  Commissary  Clark's  case." 

"  There  shall  be  nothing  of  the  kind  Sir  Henry.  He 
is  to  meet  me  on  board  the  Vulture.  If  he  does  not  come, 
I  shall  agree  to  no  arrangement  involving  the  risk  of  being 


jog  PEMBERTON  ; 

considered  a  spy.     I  know  too  well  the  temper  of  the 
Colonists  to  give  them  a  chance  of  retaliating  for  Captam 

Hale."  ^  . 

«'  Retaliating  for  Hale  !  Why,  Major,  do  you  not  know 
that  they  have  hung  not  only  Lieutenant  Palmer,  but  at 
least  seven  others,  since  Hale's  execution?  I  was  greatly 
pleased  the  other  day  when  Washington  asked  me  to  spare 
that  last  spy  we  caught,  as  I  hope  it  will  put  an  end  to  all 
these  barbarous  hangings.  I  thank  God  that  I  have  not 
put  a  single  man  to  death  in  that  way,  since  I  have  had 
command  of  his  Majesty's  forces." 

"  I  did  not  know,  I  will  confess,  Sir  Henry,  that  the 
record  of  humanity  in  that  respect  stood  so  largely  in  our 
favor.  For  my  part,  it  seems  rather  inconsistent  to  hang 
spies,  at  the  same  time  that  we  employ  so  many.  I  can 
conceive  how  a  perfectly  honorable  man  could  act  as  a  spy, 
and  I  suppose  both  Hale  and  Palmer  were  sudi-but  st.U 
I  have  not  much  liking  for  that  branch  of  the  soldier  s 

profession."  ^     r  ■. 

"  Well,  my  dear  boy,  take  care  you  keep  out  ol  it. 
But  if  we  have  made  no  mistake  in  our  man,  what  excuse 
can  he  possibly  give  the  rebels  for  meeting  either  you  or 
Robinson  on  board  the  Vulture?    It  will  certainly  cause 

suspicion."  •  ^^ 

"  I  admit  the  risk  of  that.  Sir  Henry. 
.  "  He  will  find,  when  he  thinks  longer  upon  it,  that  it 
will  not  do.  He  will  probably  propose  some  other  place 
of  meeting.  Now,  Major,  I  repeat  it  again,  go  neither 
within  their  lines  nor  put  off  your  uniform.  You  know 
there  is  a  possibility  that  he  really  means  to  betray  us  at 
the  last  moment,  instead  of  the  rebels." 

"  I  think  not.  Sir  Henry,  But  of  course  there  is  a  pos- 
sibility  of  it.  For  that  reason  I  am  the  more  anxious  to 
meet  him,  and  judge  for  myself  of  the  honesty  of  the  man. 


OR,    ONE   HUNrtRED   YEARS   AGO. 


299 


well  the  temper  of  the 
f  retaliating  for  Captain 

Major,  do  you  not  know 
eutenant  Palmer,  but  at 
tecution  ?  I  was  greatly 
ington  asked  me  to  spare 
it  will  put  an  end  to  all 
ink  God  that  I  have  not 
t  way,  since  I  have  had 

ess,  Sir  Henry,  that  the 
:t  stood  so  largely  in  our 
ther  inconsistent  to  hang 
employ  so  many.  I  can 
e  man  could  act  as  a  spy, 
[mer  were  such — but  still 
.t  branch  of  the  soldier's 

are  you  keep  out  of  it. 

in  our  man,  what  excuse 

or  meeting  either  you  or 

It  will  certainly  cause 

Henry." 

ks  longer  upon  it,  that  it 
propose  some  other  place 
)eat  it  again,  go  neither 
our  uniform.  You  know 
ally  means  to  betray  us  at 
rebels." 

It  of  course  there  is  a  pos- 
I  am  the  more  anxious  to 
3f  the  honesty  of  the  man. 


If  I  am  entrapped,  that  will  amount  to  but  little— but  to 
have  a  large  detachment  of  the  army  entrapped,  would  be, 
at  this  critical  moment,  a  very  serious  matter  indeed." 

"  Yes,  Major,  I  see  that  you  must  go.  And  if,  when 
you  meet  him,  you  could  manage  to  get  something  in  his 
handwriting  that  would  seriously  compromise  him  with  ;he 
rebels,  1  should  not  fear  so  much  his  backing- out  at  the 
last  moment." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  so,"  replied  Andr6. 
"Of  course  you  will  arrange  with  him  the  plan  of  at- 
tack, so  that  resistance  shall  be  almost  impossible.  And  if 
we  could  manage  lo  surround  the  Fortress  while  Washing- 
ton was  there,  and  capture  him  also,  I  think  it  would 
finish  the  war  at  a  blow." 

«'  If  Washington  is  not  there,  Arnold  might  send  to  him 
for  reinforcements.  Knowing  the  value  of  West  Point, 
he  would  probably  head  them  himself;  and  then  if  the 
post  should  be  surrendered  just  before  he  arrived,  and  the 
proper  dispositions  made  by  your  Excellency,  he  might 
be  surrounded  and  taken  prisoner  with  his  whole  detach- 
ment.    This  certainly  would  end  the  war." 

"Major,  you  shall  be  made  Brigadier,  at  least,  when 
that  happens,"  said  Clinton  warmly. 

"  Thank  you.  Sir  Henry.  I  will  not  say  that  I  am  not 
ambitious— because  I  am.  But  I  will  say  that  I  am  per-  ^ 
fectly  willing  to  leave  all  such  questions  to  your  generosity, 
and  that  of  my  King  and  Country.  So  far,  you  have  re- 
warded me  beyond  my  deserts— and  I  am  truly  grateful. 
But  what  shall  I  say  to  Arnold  ?  One  great  object  of  his 
in  meeting  me,  no  doubt,  is  the  settling  of  his  reward,  be- 
yond all  after  cavil.  In  fact,  he  hinted  in  one  of  his 
letters,  that  the  ready  money  would  be  very  acceptable." 
"  No— no— I  am  too  old  a  bird  to  run  the  risk  of 
being  caught  with  chaff,"   replied  Sir  Henry.     "He 


300 


PEMnERTON ; 


must  be  content  with  the  word  of  a  British  officer.  That 
is  the  reason  he  so  strongly  urged  tliat  you  should  come, 
Major.  See  what  it  is  to  have  a  reputation  !"  And  the 
General  smiled  kindly  on  his  favorite  Aid-ile-cami). 

"What "Mi  I  empowered  to  offer  him?"  continued 
Andrti. 

"Offer  him  ;^3o,ooo  in  case  of  success, and  an  equal 
rank  with  his  present  one  in  the  British  army.  And  if 
the  result  is,  as  we  trust,  the  overthrow  of  the  rebellion, 
tell  him  that  his  services  shall  be  duly  considered  in  the 
appointment  of  the  new  officers  for  the  Colonies.  As  to 
the  general  plan  of  Pacification  proposed,  you  already 
understand  that  fully.  The  Colonies  shall  have  everything 
they  have  hitherto  contended  for." 

"  I  infer  there  are  other  officers  who  will  follow  his  lead, 
what  of  them?" 

"They  shall  be  rewarded  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of 
their  services.  I  leave  all  this  to  your  discretion,  Major. 
There  probably  will  not  be  time  to  communicate  with  me. 
Consult  with  Colonel  Robinson,  if  you  can ;  he  is  a  gen- 
tleman of  very  solid  judgment." 

"I  think  I  understand  your  Excellency's  wishes  and 
views  fully,  but  I  will  confer  with  Colonel  Robinson  when- 
ever T  ran.     I  trust  to  bring  the  whole  affair  to  a  satisfac 
tory  issue." 

"  And  take  care  of  yourself,  my  dear  Major.  Do  not 
put  yourself  into  the  lion's  mouth.  He  is  terribly  excited 
and  ferocious  just  now.     What  time  do  you  start?" 

"  Early  in  the  morning.  And  I  will  now  bid  your  Ex- 
cellency good  evening,  as  I  have  a  number  of  matters  to 
arrange  before  retiring." 

"Stay.  Give  me  your  arm  around  to  Colonel  Wil- 
liams's. I  promised  him  to  call  in  at  his  dinner  party,  and 
stay  a  little  while  with  them." 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


fa  British  officer.    That 
;d  that  you  should  come, 
I  reputation!"     And  the 
/oritc  Aid-de-camp. 
offer  him?"   continued 

of  success,  and  an  equal 
le  British  army.  And  if 
vfcrthrow  of  the  rebellion, 
)e  duly  cxnsidered  in  the 

for  the  Colonies.     As  to 
n   proposed,  you  already 
nies  shall  have  everything 
or." 
s  who  will  follow  his  lead, 

roportion  to  the  extent  of 

0  your  discretion,  Major, 
to  communicate  with  me. 

,  if  you  can ;  he  is  a  gen- 
Excellency's  wishes  and 

1  Colonel  Robinson  when- 
:  whole  affair  to  a  satisfac 

my  dear  Major.     Do  not 
:h.     He  is  terribly  excited 
time  do  you  start?" 
d  I  will  now  bid  your  Ex- 
ve  a  number  of  matters  to 

around  to  Colonel  Wil- 
in  at  his  dinner  party,  and 


301 


Leaving  headquarters,  Sir  Henry  and  Andrd  proceeded 
a  few  blocks  to  the  quarters  of  Colonel  Williams,  at  the 
ancient  bowerie  or  country-seat  of  Jacobus  Kip.  They 
found  there  a  brilliant  assemblage  of  of{)^|^njoyitig 
themselves  with  conversation  and  speeches  aUKongs  and 
wine,  who  hailed  the  entrance  of  their  Commander  with 
great  applause,  and  conducted  him  to  a  seat  reserved 
for  him  at  the  head  of  the  table.  Andr6  remained  for 
a  few  minutes,  interchanging  salutations  with  his  many 
friends,  and  then  turned  to  leave.  Instantly  there  was  a 
loud  outcry  all  around  him,  remonstrating  against  his  de- 
parture. 

"  You  are  not  going.  Major?"  cried  his  host.  "Really 
we  cannot  permit  it;  can  we,  gentlemen?" 

"No,  no,  no  !"  rang  from  all  sides. 

"  No  such  shirking  as  that  I" 

"  Stand  to  your  colors.  Major  I" 

"Face  the  music  !" 

"  Drink  to  your  lady-love  1" 

"  Order  him  to  maintain  his  position  at  all  hazards.  Sir 
Henry!" 

"Hip,  Hip,  Hurrah!" 

Andri  tuuicd  smilingly  from  one  to  another  of  the  lively 
circle.  Then,  when  room  was  given  for  a  word,  he  said 
pleasantly,  "  Thank  you  all,  gentlemen  ;  but  I  have  some 
important  business  to  attend  to  this  evening,  and,  much  to 
my  regret,  will  have  to  be  excused." 

"Then  sing  us  a  song  before  you  go,"  cried  a  voice. 
And  "a  song  from  Major  Andr6 !  a  song  from  Major 
Andre!"  rang  around  the  table. 

"  What  shall  it  be,  gentlemen?" 

"Sing  us  Wolfe's  chanson.  Major,  to  begin  with,"  said 
Colonel  Williams.     This  was  the  little  song  attributed  to 
General  Wolfe,  and  sung  by  him  on  the  eve  of  the  battle 
26 


3o> 


PEMBERTON  } 


in  which  he  dicd-that  desperate  struggle  on  the  Heights 

°' A';^r;  far^ry  it  entirely."  replied  Andr*'' but  I'll 
obey  ordl^an'd  so  saying,  he  sang  in  a  r.ch.  r^Kllow 
voice  as  iPi^s : 

"Why.toMiem,  why 

Shouia  wo  l>c  incl«ii<.holy,  boy»t 

Wliy,»<)lJl<!".  "''y* 

Whose  buslnest  'lit  to  ill*  I 
'Whoie  bii«l«"»  'I'*  «°  '""  ' 
For  "hoiiM  the  next  campaign 
Semi  u«  to  Him  who  made  u.,  boyi, 

We're  free  from  pain ; 
We're  free  from  p.iini 
But  shoiilil  we  hem  remain, 
A  liitlle  and  kin'l  hmdlady 
MaUcn  ;ill  well  again  I   ^ 
Maket  all  well  again  1" 

Tumultuous  applause  followed  ^hc  song-in  the  midst  of 
which  Andr6  would  fain  have  escaped  from  the  room. 
Bu  the  gay  revellers  around  him  wouUl  not  permit  it.  dc- 
faining  him  with  rough  but  kindly  hand..  "  One  rnore 
song  they  -«st  have."  they  said.  "  and  then  he  might  go 

'"  Toive  us  something  of  your  own  composition  this  time. 
Major,"  cried  Colonel  Williams. 

"The  very  idea." 

«« Good  for  you,  Colonel."  ^^ 

"  One  of  your  own  songs,  Major, 

greater  warmth  of  feeling  :— 


:l.!| 


Oh,  soldier,  how 

Canst  thou  be  gay  t 
A  day,  an  hour. 
Thou,  like  the  flower, 
Shalt  pati  away. 


)N} 


c  Struggle  on  the  Heights 

'  rcphed  Andri,  "but  I'll 
he  sang  in  a  rich,  mellow 


tholy,  boyi! 

• 

to  ille  I 
to  elk  I 
campnign 
t,  ma'ls  lu,  boyt, 

n: 
In  I 

remntili 
iiuUady 
nl 
111  I" 

(1  thesong— in  themidstof 
e  escaped  from  the  room, 
im  would  not  permit  it,  dc- 
indly  hands,  "  One  more 
id,  "and  then  he  might  go 

r  own  composition  this  time, 
ms. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   Y6AM  AGO. 


A  h.tyonet'ii  pu^h, 

A  Kwonl-cat  ftor«  i 
Thy  iijiiic  at  lull, 
Or banipi'^t  hill, 
It  lieanl  no  moral 
It  heard  no  mora  I 


30.1 


# 


n 

Oh,  lady  fulr, 
Oh,  lady  f..lr. 

My  ream  ura  itUl  j 
I  cannot  die, 
Beneath  Uod't  iky, 

A|[aln»t  God'i  will. 

From  matt  and  crag, 
Our  rcd-cri»«  fluu 

Still  (treamt  on  high. 
Let  that  float  Tree, 
O'er  land  and  ica, 

E'en  tho\i|{h  I  diet 

E'en  thou||h  I  die  I 

Amid  the  wild  applause  which  followed  his  song,  and 
tiiis  time  unopposed,  save  by  warm  hand-claspings,  Andrd 
left  the  room. 

"There  goes  the  most  popular  young  officer  in  the 
army,  Sir  Henry,"  said  Colonel  Williams. 

"Yes,  and  justly  so.  The  Major  is  a  second  Bayard, 
'  sanspcur  et  sans  reproche,'  "  replied  Clinton.  "  I  love 
him  almost  as  my  own  son.' 


Major," 

idently  with  more  care  and 


er,  how 
;hou  be  gay  t 
n  hour, 
te  the  flower, 
;)a>i  away. 


1 


304 


PEMBERTON  ; 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE   MIDNIGHT    CONFERENCE. 


ow,  uy  the  shade  of  Hecate,  you  have  chosen 
A  fitting  spot  for  such  an  ominous  deed  ; 
Come,  Midnight,  hide  our  presence  with  thy  pall. 
And  make  Life  mute  as  Death  I 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  on  the  2ist  of 
September,  17.S0,  when  General  Benedict  Arnold  mounted 
his  horse  at  the  White  House,  the  residence  of  Mr.  Joshua 
Smith,  to  ride  down  to  the  foot  of  Long  Clove,  where  he 
had  at  last  arranged  to  give  Major  Andre  a  meeting.  It 
was  a  dark  but  calm  and  beautiful  night,  the  stars  shining 
with  even  unusual  brilliancy  .;  and  the  General,  attended 
by  a  negro  servant,  rode  as  composedly  along,  as  if  he 
were  going  simply  on  a  common  journey,  and  not  to  one 
of  th<^se  momentous  interviews  which  affect  for  good  or  evil 
the  destiny  of  great  nations.  That  Arnold's  spirit  was  as 
composed  as  his  manner,  we  should  not  feel  at  liberty  to 
say.  The  risk  was  too  great,  the  stake  at  issue  too  import- 
ant, to  render  such  a  state  of  inward  quiet  probable.  But 
he  was  a  man  of  iron  nerves,  and  had  fully  determined  to 
brave  the  peril,  and  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die.  With 
such  a  man — one  who  was  emphatically  a  man  of  action — 
a  state  of  composure  in  the  midst  of  the  most  desperate 
enterprises  is  possible,  which  men  of  a  more  thoughtful 
and  intellectual  cast  can  never  hope  to  attain. 

And  so  Arnold  rode  deliberately  on  through  the  night, 
along  the  river  road,  and  over  the  nigged  hills,  and  through 
the  deep  valleys  and  ravines  which  lined  the  lonely  Hud- 
son, until  he  came  near  the  appointed  rendezvous  at  the 
foot  of  Long  Clove  mountain.  Leaving  his  horse  here  in 
the  road  with  the  servant,  with  directions  to  await  his 


in; 


R  II. 

ONFERENCE. 

:e,  you  have  chosen 
linous  deed ; 
rcsencc  with  thy  pall, 

ithl 

at  night,  on  the  2ist  of 
[  Benedict  Arnold  mounted 
he  residence  of  Mr.  Joshua 
t  of  Long  Clove,  where  he 
iajor  Andre  a  meeting.  It 
iful  night,  the  stars  shining 
and  the  General,  attended 
omposedly  along,  as  if  he 
n  journey,  and  not  to  one 
which  affect  for  good  or  evil 
That  Arnold's  spirit  was  as 
lould  not  feel  at  liberty  to 
le  stake  at  issue  too  import- 
iward  quiet  probable.  But 
nd  had  fully  determined  to 

hazard  of  the  die.  With 
hatically  a  man  of  action — 
lidst  of  the  most  desperate 
men  of  a  more  thoughtful 
hope  to  attain, 
-ately  on  through  the  night, 
he  rugged  hills,  and  through 
^hich  lined  the  lonely  Hud- 
ippointed  rendezvous  at  the 
Leaving  his  horse  here  in 
ith  directions  to  await  his 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   VEAP^  AGO. 


305 


return,  he  made  his  way  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  at  the 
spot  where  he  judged  the  coming  boat  would  land.  Before 
long,  gazing  intently  from  the  close  shelter  of  a  thicket 
toward  the  middle  of  the  river,  he  discern^Lthrough  the 
dark  a  .still  darker  object  approaching — tliOTfh  with  very 
little  noise,  for  the  oars  had  been  discreetly  muffled — and 
retired  at  once  to  the  concealment  of  a  group  of  fir  trees. 

As  the  bow  of  the  boat  grated  against  the  bank,  two 
gentlemen  sprung  out.  As  the  latter  of  the  two  leaped  on 
the  shore,  he  stumbled  over  a  ston^  or  a  root,  not  visible 
in  the  darkness. 

"A  bad  omen  that,  Mr.  Anderson,"  said  the  first. 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Smith ;  it  means  that  I  shall  soon  regain 
possession  of  my  property,"  replied  the  second  lightly. 

"I  think  you  will  find  the  General  in  the  shadow  of 
those  firs,"  said  Mr.  Smith  in  a  whisper.  "  Shall  I  attend 
you?" 

"  Thank  you,  but  there  is  not  the  least  occasion  for  it," 
replied  the  other,  in  the  same  cautious  tone,  walking  for- 
ward. 

When  he  reached  the  firs — which  were  not  more  than 
forty  or  fifty  yards  distant,  though  barely  visible  in  the 
obscurity  of  the  night — ^he  beheld  what  seemed  the  figure 
of  a  man  in  the  deepest  portion  of  the  shade.  Advancing 
toward  it,  he  uttered  but  one  word  in  a  questioning 
tone  : 

"Gustavus?" 

"  I  am  he.     You  are  Major  Andr6." 

"  General,  I  am  very  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
It  has  taken  us  a  good  while  to  get  together." 

"Yes.  I  could  not  come  on  board  the  Vulture;  it 
would  arouse  suspicion." 

' '  We  are  not  within  your  lines  here  ?" 

"  No.    You  are  perfectly  safe." 
26* 


2o6  PEMBERTON ; 

"I  have  no  objection  to  taking  a  fair  risk;  but  there 
are  some  risks  I  do  not  choose  to  take." 

"I  am  taking  every  risk,"  replied  Arnold,  with  some 
bitterness  in  his  voice. 

"  We  arelftdy  to  repay  you  for  it." 

"  I  care  not  mainly  for  that,"  was  the  reply.  Was  Ar- 
nold in  earnest,  or  was  this  the  opiate  plea  which  he  ad- 
ministered to  an  unquiet  conscience  ?  "I  wish  to  be  fully 
assured  that  the  Colonies,  if  conquered,  shall  have  all  their 

just  rights. 

"I  am  fully  authorized  to  assure  you  that  they  shall. 
Why,  we  have  been  offering  these  assurances  openly  for 
the  last  year." 

"Everything  but  Independence?" 
"  Everything  but  Independence." 
"And  a  full  pardon  to  all  who,  even  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, shall  submit?" 

"A  full  pardon— even  to  Washington  himself." 
"Then  with  what  do  you  propose  to  repay  me  for  my 
risk  and  my  services  in  this  matter?" 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do?"  ^.sked  Andr6. 
"To  deliver  up  West  Point,  with  its  garrison,  and  its 
munitions  of  war,  and  its  large  store  of  supplies.  In  other 
words,  to  throw  that  mighty  Fortress  into  your  side  of 
the  scales,  and  determine  at  one  blow,  even  without  a 
blow,  the  whole  contest." 
"Without  a  blow?" 

"  Yes ;  I  can  so  arrange  my  forces  that  you  shall  be  able 
to  reach  with  a  picked  corps  a  point  which  commands 
Fort  Putnam,  which  is  the  key  of  our  works.  Once  there, 
you  will  be  as  completely  master  as  Burgoyne  was  when 
he  reached  the  top  of  Sugar  Hill,  at  Ticonderoga.  One 
ravine  left  unguarded,  or  too  slightly  guarded,  and  West 
Point  is  yours." 


' 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AOO. 


307 


a  fair  risk ;  but  there 
ike." 
ied  Arnold,  with  some 

it." 

as  the  reply.  Was  Ar- 
piate  plea  which  he  ad- 
e?  "  I  wish  to  be  fully 
;red,  shall  have  all  their 

re  you  that  they  shall. 
e  assurances  openly  for 

?" 

10,  even  at  the  last  mo- 

ington  himself." 

lose  to  repay  me  for  my 

r?" 

'  i;sked  Andr6. 

vith  its  garrison,  and  its 

)re  of  supplies.     In  other 

jrtress  into  your  side  of 

\e  blow,  even  without  a 


ces  that  you  shall  be  able 
I  point  which  commands 
our  works.  Once  there, 
sr  as  Burgoyne  was  when 
11,  at  Ticonderoga.  One 
ghtly  guarded,  and  West 


"  But  is  there  not  a  heavy  chain  or  boom  across  the 

river  ?    Our  friends  tell  us  so.    How  are  we  to  pass  that  ?" 

"I  have  sent  one  of  the  main   links  to  be  repaired. 

The  chain  is  now  merely  tied  together,  and  will  yield  to 

the  slightest  shock." 

"  You  said,  if  I  understand  you.  General,  that  we  could 
take  the  Fort  without  loss  of  life?" 

"With  little— or,  perhaps  none.  I  will  not  expose  the 
lives  of  my  soldiers.  Besides,  I  mean  this  thing  to  be 
kept  quiet ;  so  that  while  my  generalship  may  be  called  m 
question,  none  shall  doubt  my  good  faith.^  This  is  neces- 
sary to  the  after  workings  of  my  scheme." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  follow  up  the  surrender?" 
«Sir  Henry  Clinton  must  immediately  issue  a  procla- 
mation, offering  the  most  liberal  terms— such  as  you  just 
mentioned-to  the  Colonies,  if  they  will  lay  down  their 
arms ;  and  a  free  pardon  to  all  who  will  embrace  those 
terms.  I  will  immediately  accept  them,  and  persuade  as 
many  other  officers  as  I  can  to  join  me  in  so  doing." 

"Are  any  other  officers  concerned  with  you  in  this  pro- 
posed West  Point  transfer?" 

"  Not  one.  It  would  be  dangerous  even  to  entrust  an- 
other with  the  secret.  But,  if  things  go  as  I  have  planned, 
I  believe  there  are  many  that  will  soon  join  me,  especially 
if  I  can  offer  them  some  ready  money.  Hundreds  of 
them  are  without  a  dollar,  even  a  worthless  paper  dollar, 
in  their  hungry  purses— and  the  wives  and  children  of 
many  are  suffering  for  the  common  necessaries  of  life.  It 
is  time  the  whole  ridiculous  nonsense  was  exploded." 

"We  should  like  to  capture  Washington  also,"  said 
Andr6,  in  a  still  more  cautious  tone  than  that  in  which 
the  conversation  had  so  far  been  held. 

"No.  I  will  not  do  it.  He  has  always  been  a  good 
friend  to  me— in  spite  of  that  cursed  Congress," 


3o8 


PEMBERTON  I 


I 


"  We  mean  him  no  harm,"  replied  Andr6  "We  mean 
only  to  decide  tlie  war,  at  once  and  forever." 

"  I  will  not  hear  to  it.  I  will  not  sec  a  hair  of  his  head 
injured,"  said  Arnold  peremptorily. 

"So  far  from  injuring  a  hair  of  his  head,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  it  would  rest  entirely  with  himself  whether  a 
Viceroy's  coronet  should  not  repose  there.  We  do  not 
mean  to  do  things  by  halves.  General,  if  we  are  trium- 
phant. We  shall  never  give  those  Frenchmen  another 
opportunity." 

Curious  heart  of  man  !  Arnold  had  revolted  from  ar- 
ranging to  deliver  up  his  Commander  and  his  friend ;  and 
now  the  hint  of  Andre's  that  Washington  might  be  Vice- 
roy if  he  pleased,  only  made  him  more  determined  that  it 
should  not  be  done.  For  if  Washington  were  not  made 
Viceroy,  whose  claims  would  be  superior  to  his  own  ? 

"No,"  said  he;  "I  will  not  agree  to  it.  Whatever 
else  I  may  be,  no  man  shall  say  that  I  am  ungrateful.  I 
owe  no  gratitude  to  Congress — it  and  my  country  owe  me 
gratitude.  But  to  Washington  I  owe  a  debt  that  I  shall 
never  repay  with  what  he  would  consider  the  grossest  per- 
fidy." 

"Of  course,  General,  you  must  judge  for  yourself  in 
such  a  matter,"  said  Andr6,  courteously.  "I  am  merely 
suggesting  these  things  as  a  British  officer,  not  as  a  private 
gentleman." 

"And,  for  all  this,  what  shall  be  my  reward?"  asked 
Arnold.  "I  mean  to  restore  a  Continent  to  England — 
what  does  she  mean  to  give  me  in  return  !" 

"Your  greatest  reward,  General,  you  must  find  in  the 
approbation  of  your  own  conscience,"  replied  Andr6;  "in 
the  proud  consciousness  that  you  have  laid  the  wrathful 
and  destruc  tive  demon  of  war,  brought  peace  and  pros- 
perity to  thousands  of  distracted  homes,  restored  concord 


Dlied  Andr6      "We  mean 

md  forever." 

not  sec  a  hair  of  his  head 

ily. 

•  of  his  head,  I  am  con- 

'  with  himself  whether  a 

pose  there.     We  do  not 

General,  if  we  are  triuni- 

lose  Frenchmen  another 

d  had  revolted  from  ar- 
nder  and  his  friend ;  and 
shington  might  be  Vice- 
more  determined  that  it 
ashington  were  not  made 
superior  to  his  own  ? 

agree  to  it.     Whatever 

that  I  am  ungrateful.     I 

and  my  country  owe  me 

[  owe  a  debt  that  I  shall 

consider  the  grossest  per- 

ust  judge  for  yourself  in 
rteously.  "I  am  merely 
ih  officer,  not  as  a  private 

i  be  my  reward  ?' '  asked 
Continent  to  England — 
n  return  !" 

al,  you  must  find  in  the 
ice,"  replied  Andr6;  "in 
ii  have  laid  the  wrathful 
wrought  peace  and  pros- 
homes,  restored  concord 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRED    YEARS   AOO. 


309 


between  quarrelling  kindred,  and  reunited  a  mighty  Em- 
pire, the  bulwark  of  the  Protestant  Faith.  No  mere  money 
can  pay  you  for  all  this,  General. ' ' 

"Very  true.  But  a  little  money  nevertheless  wotild  be 
very  acceptable  to  me,  as  it  is  apt  to  be  even  to  British 
generals  and  majors." 

"Undoubtedly,"  replied  Andr6.  "And  England  is 
always  generous  to  those  who  serve  her.  She  is  no  penu- 
rious mistress." 

"I  should  like  to  serve  a  mistress  of  that  kind,  as  a 
change.     Congress  is  a  mean  enough  master,  God  knows." 

"I  suppose  they  are  poor  men,  and  pay  poorly,"  said 
Andr6. 

"  They  are  mean  men,  and  pay  meanly,"  replied  Ar- 
nold with  bitterness. 

"Too — hoo — 00 — 00 — 00 — "  quavered  an  owl  from  the 
branches  of  one  of  the  firs,  as  if  in  delight,  or  mockery,  it 
was  hard  to  say  which. 

Andre  started  at  first,  but  then  gave  a  low  laugh.  "It 
is  the  bird  of  wisdom,"  said  he,  "come  to  assist  at  our 
conference." 

"Wisdom!  the  wisdom  which  looks  wise  as  Solomon, 
but  all  the  time  only  means  mice.  We've  plenty  of  these 
solemn  owls  among  us,  especially  in  Congress,  Major. 
But  to  come  back  to  business.  What  may  I  expect  ?  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  what  my  risk  is.  If  I  am  discovered, 
and  fail,  a  rope  from  a  branch  like  that" — pointing  to  one 
just  above  them — "'  and  curses  and  maledictions,  perhaps 
forever.  That  is  even  w^orse  than  the  rope  to  a  man  as 
ambitious  as  I  am.  I  will  not  run  this  terrible  risk  for 
nothing.  I  mean  to  be  paid  well,  or  give  up  the  whole 
affair." 

"  To-hoo-00-oo-oo,"  again  hooted  the  owl  derisively, 
now  amid  the  branches  of  an  adjacent  tree. 


3IO 


PEMnERTON 


«D_n  that  infernal  bird!"  exclaimed  \rnold,  in  a 
suppressed  voice,  and  feeling  about  with  his  foot  for  a 
loose  stone. 

"  Wliat  would  you  consider  fair  payment,  General?" 

questioned  Andre. 

"Fifty  thousand  pounds,  and  the  same  rank  in  the 
British  army  that  I  hold  in  our  own." 

"  I  cannot  do  it.  I  was  instructed  to  offer  you  twenty- 
five  thousand.     The  equality  of  rank  we  would  agree  to." 

"Then  we  might  as  well  separate.  I  will  not  take 
twenty-five  thousand,"  rejoined  Arnold, 

Andre  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  saw  through  the 
darkness  a  form  coming  toward  them.     It  was  Mr.  Smith. 

"  Gentlemen,','  said  he,  "had  you  not  better  adjourn  to 
my  house,  and  finish  your  conference  there?  The  men 
are  tired  and  sleepy,  and  my  ague  is  coming  on  with  this 
chilly  dampness." 

"  No  ;  I  must  go  back  to  the  Vulture  to-night,"  replied 

Andre  firmly. 

"I  do  not  see  how  you  can  do  that,"  replied  Smith. 

"The  men  are  tired  ;  you  know  the  boat  is  a  very  large 

and  heavy  one.     Besides,  they  say  the  Vulture  is  to  be 

cannonaded  at  daybreak — " 

■"    "  How  is  that  ?"  said  Andrd  quickly,  turning  to  Arnold, 

"  It's  only  some  of  Livingston's  cursed  folly.  He  ap- 
plied to  me  for  two  of  my  heavy  guns,  but  I  did  not  choose 
to  strip  the  Fort ;  and  so  he  intends  blazing  away,  it  seems, 
with  his  four  pounder." 

"The  men  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  go  and  return 
before  the  cannonade,"  said  Andrd;  "besides  they  have 
their  passes." 

"I  have  urged  all  that  upon  them,"  rejoined  Smith; 
"but  they  obstinately  refuse  to  go." 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Anderson,"  urged  Arnold,  "  that,  on  the 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YF.,\RS   AGO. 


311 


xclaimed  \rnold,  in  a 
out  with  his  foot  for  a 

lir  payment,  General?" 

the  same  rank  in   the 
m." 

:tcd  to  offer  you  twenty- 
ink  we  would  agree  to." 
arate.  I  will  not  take 
irnold, 

en  he  saw  through  the 
lem.  It  was  Mr.  Smith, 
you  not  better  adjourn  to 
rence  there?  The  men 
;  is  coming  on  with  this 

'ulture  to-night,"  replied 

do  that,"  replied  Smith, 
the  boat  is  a  very  large 
ay  the  Vulture  is  to  be 

ickly,  turning  to  Arnold. 
I's  cursed  folly.  He  ap- 
;uns,  but  I  did  not  choose 
ds  blazing  away,  it  seems, 

)f  time  to  go  and  return 
dr63  "besides  they  have 

them,"  rejoined  Smith  J 
o." 
ed  Arnold,  "  that,  on  the 


wliole,  the  better  plan  will  be  to  ride  over  to  Mr.  Smith's. 
If  you  do  not,  we  may  require  a  second  meeting  to  arrange 
those  affairs,  and  I  do  not  see  that  it  will  be  possible  for 
me  to  give  you  another." 

'When  would  I  return?"  said  Andr6,  seeing  the  force 
of  Arnold's  plea,  and  unwilling  to  let  so  important  a  nego- 
tiation fall  to  the  ground. 

"You  could  return  to-morrow  night,"  replied  Arnold. 
"If  the  Vulture  is  forced  to  shift  her  position,  the  boat- 
men would  have  further  to  row  you,  that  would  be  all ; 
and,  if  need  be,  my  passes  would  take  you  to  Dobb's 
Ferry." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  the  best  we  can  do,"  commented  Andr6 

dubiously. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  replied  Arnold.  "Mr.  Smith,  you 
can  return  home  in  the  boat ;  Mr.  Anderson  will  accom- 
pany me  on  the  horse  my  servant  rode." 

As  Mr.  Smith  hurried  away,  evidently  very  glart  to  es- 
cape any  further  detention,  Arnold  said  :  "Even  if  you 
accepted  my  offer,  I  see  not  how  I  could  explain  the  de- 
fences of  our  works  to  you  here  in  this  confounded  dark- 
ness. At  Mr.  Smith's  I  have  all  our  engineer's  plans — 
and  it  would  be  very  important  that  whoever  leads  the 
attacking  party  should  understand  the  details  thoroughly." 

"  I  suppose  what  must  be  must  be,"  replied  Andr6, 
good  humoredly.  "How  far  off  is  this  house  of  Mr. 
Smith's?" 

"  Oh,  not  so  very  far.  Come  this  way ;  I  have  a  couple 
of  horses  that  will  take  us  there  in  a  twinkling." 

Arrived  at  the  spot  where  the  horses  had  been  left,  they 
mounted,  Arnold  giving  the  negro  a  five-dollar  note,  "to 
buy  a  dram  with,"  to  comfort  him  for  having  to  walk 
home. 

"  I  never  carry  anything  less  than  five-dollar  notes  in 


4 


tI2 


PEMBERTON  j 


my  porkct,"  said  Arnold,  laughing  sardonically.  "You 
can't  buy  even  a  glass  of  grog  for  less  than  that,  with  this 
cursed  shinbone  currency." 

Andr6  made  no  reply.  Their  road  lay  through  the 
woods,  which  made  the  night  seem  darker  than  before, 
and  it  required  some  care  to  ride  safely. 

"  To-hoo-oo-oo-oo." 

"D n  that  owl — if  it  is  not  following  us!"  ex- 
claimed Arnold.  "  If  it  were  not  for  the  noise,  I'd  send 
a  pistol  bullet  at  it," 

"  To-hoo-oo-oo-oo." 

"It  is  not  very  pleasant  music  to  ride  by,  but  I  suppose 
we  must  submit  to  it,"  said  Andr6  good-humoredly. 

They  had  ridden  several  miles,  and  Andr6  was  begin- 
ning to  wonder  why  they  did  not  reach  Mr.  Smith's 
abode,  when  suddenly  he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a 
little  hamlet,  and  then  the  hoarse  "who  goes  there?"  of  a 
sentinel  broke  upon  his  ear. 

Andre's  first  thought  was,  "I  am  betrayed,"  and  his 
heart  sunk  within  him ;  but  Arnold's  immediate  reply, 
"  Friends,"  and  his  utterance  of  the  countersign,  "Con- 
gress," reassured  him.  Then,  the  immediate  danger 
over,  he  grew  very  indignant.  As  soon  as  it  was  prudent 
to  speak,  he  rode  up  to  Arnold's  side. 

"  Did  you  not  understand  me,  General,  that  I  would 
not  go  within  your  lines?  That  was  my  express  stipula- 
tion with  you." 

"You  have  your  uniform  on,  under  that  surtout,  have 
you  not?"  replied  Arnold  sternly. 

"Of  course  I  have  ;  and  this  is  my  usual  watch-coat." 
" Then  what  does  it  matter?    You  are  just  a;i  safe  with- 
in our  lines  as  outside.     They  could  not  do  more  than 
make  a  prisoner  of  you,  and  they  would  do  that  as  soon 
at  Long  Clove  as  here." 


^W*i'.> 


^ 


*; 


ng  sardonically.     "You 
r  less  than  that,  with  this 

ir  road  lay  through  the 
;em  darker  than  before, 
safely. 

not  following  us!"  ex- 
ot  for  the  noise,  I'd  send 


to  ride  by,  but  I  suppose 
•6  good-humoredly. 
s,  and  Andr6  was  begin- 
not  reach  Mr.  Smith's 
liimself  in  the  midst  of  a 
;  "who  goes  there?"  of  a 

[  am  betrayed,"  and  his 
mold's  immediate  reply, 
r  the  countersign,  "Con- 
,  the  immediate  danger 
As  soon  as  it  was  prudent 
side. 

le.  General,  that  I  would 
t  was  my  express  stipula- 

under  that  surtout,  have 

y- 

is  my  usual  watch-coat." 
You  are  just  aii  safe  with- 
could  not  do  more  than 
liey  would  do  that  as  soon 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


3»3 


"There  is  more  danger  here,  though." 

"I  did  not  suppose  a  British  soldier  cared  for  a  little 
•danger,  more  or  less,"  scoffed  Arnold. 

"  Neither  do  I.  But  I  have  a  point  of  delicacy  in  my 
share  of  this  business,  and  that  constrained  me  to  insist 
that  the  negotiation  should  take  place  outside  ol  your 
lines." 

"  If  you  had  so  much  delicacy  of  feeling,  you  should 
have  kept  out  of  the  business  altogether,"  exclaimed  Ar- 
nold savagely.  "  To  me  such  boyish  scruples  seem  non- 
sense, in  view  of  what  you  are  asking  me  to  do  for  the 
King  and  the  Empire." 

There  was  great  force  in  what  Arnold  said,  as  Andr6 
could  but  own.  His  position  was  delicacy  iteelf  compared 
to  Arnold's ;  so  much  so,  that  it  even  seemed  insulting  to 
dwell  upon  the  subject.  But  yet  the  affair  left  an  uneasy 
feeling  in  his  mind.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  dealing 
with  a  man  naturally  and  boldly  unscrupulous ;  and  there- 
fore who  might  deceive  one  side  as  well  as  the  other. 

As  Andre  rode  on  silently,  thinking  of  all  this,  he  felt 
the  importance  of  obtaining  some  security  in  Arnold's 
handwriting  that  might  hold  him  to  his  word.  Every- 
thing so  far,  of  a  direct  character,  was  in  a  disguised  hand, 
and  under  his  assumed  name.  Else  the  British  forces 
might  find  West  Point  only  a  decoy,  and  themselves  with 
a  strong  Fortress  in  their  front,  and  the  whole  Continental 
army  in  their  rear.  If  they  were  tricked,  they  should  at 
least  be  able  to  show  that  they  had  acted  upon  reasonable 
assurances  of  good  faith. 

A  traitor's  mere  word,  it  was  evident,  could  not  be 
wholly  relied  upon.  If  it  could,  he  would  not  be  a  traitor. 
Even  treason  to  a  bad  cause,  seemed  to  involve  this  con- 
clusion. See,  Arnold  had  broken  faith  with  him  at  the 
very  start.  It  was  a  small  matter,  some  might  say,  but 
27 


"[t 


314  PEMBERTONJ 

where  a  single  acorn  falls  there  is  an  oak.  Andri,  as  he 
reQected  thus,  grew  fearful— not  so  mu'h  for  himself,  as 
for  the  army  and  the  royal  cause. 

"  Major,"  said  Arnold,  after  a  time,  and  in  a  frank  and 
friendly  tone,   "  I  am  sorry  for  what  has  happened.     In 
fact,  I  forgot  aU  about  that  outpost  being  at  Haverstraw, 
until  we  had  allowed  Smith  to  leave  us,  and  it  was  too 
late  to  .econsider  our  determination.     I  am  myself  as  rash 
as— as  I  am  cautious;  but  in  your  place,  would  think  it  ^ 
safer  to  hold  our  conference  in  the  privacy  of  a  house, 
than  in  such  an  exposed  spot  as  that  we  met  in.     Why, 
what  with  the  midnight  and  the  darkness,  and  the  river 
plainings,  and  that  accursed  owl,  it  seemcJ  just  like  a 
haunt  of  conspirators." 

•«  Perhaijs  you  are  right,"  returned  Andrd,  alittle  coldly. 
"But  how  much  farther  have  we  to  ride?" 

««We  are  almost  there.  You  will  see  the  white  walls 
even  through  this  darkness  before  many  minutes.  Ah, 
here  we  are!"  And,  turning  into  a  little  inclosure,  Ar- 
nold pulled  up  at  the  door  of  a  medium-sized  house,  evi- 
dently belonging  to  a  gentleman  of  considerable  means 
and  pretensions. 

Dismounting,  they  walked  into  a  well-lighted  room, 
being  greeted  only  by  a  negro  servant,  the  master  of  the 
house  not  having  yet  arrived,  and  his  family  all  being 
absent  on  a  visit  adroitly  planned  for  this  occasion. 

«'Take  a  glass  of  wine,  Mr.  Anderson!"  said  Arnold, 
walking  up  to  the  sideboard,  and  pouring  out  a  glass  from 
one  of  the  decanters  which  stood  there.  "  It  will  warm 
you  up  a  little.  The  Hudson  is  a  grand  river,  but  I  should 
like  it  better  if  it  were  not  so  good  a  place  for  agues. 
Poor  Smith— did  you  see  how  he  was  shaking?" 

Andre  took  the  wine,  and  then  Arnold  swallowed  three 
or  four  glasses  in  rapid  succession.     It  needed  something 


I  an  oak.     Andr6,  as  he 
K>  mu';h  for  himself,  as 

time,  and  in  a  frank  and 

rhat  has  happened.     In 

3st  being  at  Jiaverstraw, 

leave  us,  and  it  was  too 

on.     I  am  myself  as  rxsh 

ir  place,  would  think  it  ^ 

the  privacy  of  a  house, 

that  we  met  in.     Why, 

darkness,  and  the  river 

1,  it  seemcJ  just  like  a 

lied  Andr<5,  ?  little  coldly, 
to  ride?" 

I  will  see  tlie  white  walls 
are  many  minutes.  Ah, 
ito  a  little  inclosure,  Ar- 
medium-sized  house,  evi- 
n  of  considerable  means 

[ito  a  well-lighted  room, 
ervant,  the  master  of  the 
and  his  family  all  being 
d  for  this  occasion. 
Anderson!"  said  Arnold, 
i  pouring  out  a  glass  from 
od  there.     "It  will  warm 
1  grand  river,  but  I  should 
)  good  a  place  for  agues. 
le  was  shaking?" 
:n  Arnold  swallowed  three 
)n.     It  needed  something 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


3^5 


powerful  to  brace  up  his  iron  nerves.  "Now,  if  .Mr. 
Smith's  cook  will  dish  us  up  something  smoking  for  break- 
fast, wv'  can  go  up-stairs,  and  finish  our  conference." 

'I'alking  upon  indifferent  subjects,  they  awaited  their 
host's  arrival.  When  he  came,  they  all  sat  down  and  par- 
took of  breakfast,  and,  that  over,  it  being  broad  daylight 
by  this  time,  Arnold  and  Andr6  retired  to  one  of  the  up- 
per chambers,  where  they  could  plot  and  plan  unseen  and 
undisturbed. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   PRICE  OF  TREASON. 

yfe  want  lecurity. 
That  we  ih*!!  not  expend  our  men  and  money 
All  to  no  purpose.— Wa//'"*'""- 

Before  sitting  down  to  breakfast,  as  mentioned  in  our 
last  chapter,  the  noise  of  the  cannonade  opened  upon  the 
Vulture,  had  broken  upon  the  ears  of  the  party  at  the 
White  House,  as  Mr.  Smith's  residence  was  usually 
called.  And  from  one  of  the  windows  of  the  second 
story  room  in  which  Arnold  and  Andr6  were  now  seated, 
they  had  watched  the  progress  of  the  cannonade,  until 
they  saw  the  Vulture  weigh  her  anchor,  and  sail  down  the 
river  out  of  the  reach  of  her  enemy's  fire.  Then  they  had 
seated  themselves  before  a  table  covered  with  drawings  and 
papers,  and  resumed  their  conference  at  the  point  where 
they  had  been  interrupted  at  Long  Clove. 

"General,"  said  Andre,  "the  terms  you  mentioned 
are  inadmissible.  I  will  give  you  at  once  the  limit  of  my 
powers— and  then  you  must  accept  or  reject,  as  you  think 


'i 


jtiii 


,'i 


'"% 


1 


316  PKMIIERTON  ; 

best.  I  am  authori/cd  to  offer  you  at  the  highest,  'I'hirty 
Thniisaiul  pounds,  payable  within  ten  days  after  the  sur- 
render of  the  Fortress.  This  is  the  very  best  I  am  author- 
ized to  do." 

There  was  sincerity  in  every  lineament  of  Andre's  face 
as  he  spoke;  and  Arnold,  though  grown  habitually  dis- 
trustful—pcriia|js  he  had  always  been  so— knew  at  once 
that  what  he  said  was  the  exact  truth. 

"  I  will  accept  your  offer,  Major— though  the  sum  is,  in 
my  opinion,  just  Fifteen  Thousand  pounds  too  small.  It 
being  understood  of  course,  that  I  accept  simply  because 
you  are  not  authorized  to  go  higher ;  and  reserve  my  right 
to  petition  the  King  for  the  additional  sum,  to  be  granted 
or  not,  at  his  good  pleasure." 

♦'  I  can  see  no  objection  to  that,"  replied  Andri. 

"As  life  is  uncertain.  Major,  and  men's  memories 
treacherous,  you  would  oblige  me  by  giving  me  that  prom- 
ise in  writing,"  continued  Arnold. 

"  1  would  willingly  do  so,  but  it  would  be  rather  a  dan- 
gerous document  to  have  about  you,  General— especially 
if  they  should  suspect  and  search  you." 

"  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  an  indirect  voucher,  in  your 
own  natural  hand,"  said  Arnold,  handing  him  a  pen  and 
a  sheet  of  paper.     "  Write  as  I  dictate  :— 

"  I  promise  to  pay  for  the  Robinson  estate,  if  restored, 
Thirty  Thousand  pounds  sterling.  Mr,  Gustavus  to  have 
the  same  Agency  as  heretofore." 

•'  It  is  written,"  said  Andr6  with  a  smile.  •"  Now  how 
shall  I  sign  it?" 

"Sign  it.  John  Anderson,  Agent." 

"  It  will  do,"  said  Arnold,  also  smiling.  "  It  i?  not  a 
first-class  voucher,  but  it  is  the  best  I  can  trust  my  pocket 
and  neck  with." 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


.1«7 


on  at  the  highest,  Thirty 
n  ten  days  after  llie  sur- 
the  very  best  I  am  author- 

ineament  of  Andre's  face 
gh  grown  habitually  dis- 
;  been  so — knew  at  once 
ruth. 

or — though  the  sum  is,  in 
lid  pounds  too  small.  It 
t  I  accept  simply  because 
her ;  and  reserve  my  right 
itional  sum,  to  be  granted 

It,"  replied  Andr<i. 
or,  and    men's  memories 
L»  by  giving  me  that  prom- 
Id. 

it  would  be  rather  a  dan- 
you,  General — especially 
1  you." 

indirect  voucher,  in  your 
1,  handing  him  a  pen  and 
iictate : — 

ibinson  estate,  if  restored, 
ig.     Mr.  Gustavus  to  have 

vith  a  smile.    ■"  Now  how 

;ent." 

Iso  smiling.     "It  is  not  a 

best  I  can  trust  my  pocket 


"Now,"  co«»t  mied  Arnold,  "  a-s  we  have  that  little 
matter  settlc«l,  '?»  :  me  instruct  you  fully  in  my  plans.  Mere 
i,  Dtiportail's  plans  of  all  the  forts  ;  he  is  a  Froii.  hman, 
Init  a  <-.ipital  engineer,  you  must  admit.  You  see  this  dot 
at  lort  I'utnam— that  is  a  breach  through  which  a  section 
could  mar(  h  abreast ;  it  is  dosed  just  now  with  a  few  loose 
boards.  Here  is  the  place  where  you  land— and  here  your 
p.ith.  Once  at  this  spot  in  strength,  and  Fort  Putnam  is 
y,jurs— that  taken,  all  is  taken  You  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  guides,  I  suppose." 

"  Not  the  lexst — we  have  scores  of  refugees  in  New  York 
from  this  region  ;  and  they  are  more  earnest,  and  far  more 
bitter  in  their  loyalty,  than  even  the  royal  troops  them- 
selves." 

"  And  here,"  added  Arnold,  "  are  six  important  papers : 
'  Estimates  of  o"r  forces,'  '  Remarks  on  the  Works,'  '  Ma- 
jor  Bauman's  account  of  the  ordnance  on  the  different 
forts,  batteries,'  &c.,  nearly  all  in  my  handwriting,  you 
see.  You  might  take  a  summary  of  these,  detailed  as  so 
many  l)arrels  of  sugar,  with  remarks  on  the  condition  of 
the  merchandize,  which  would  refresh  your  memory  when 

referred  to." 

"  I  think  I  had  better  take  the  papers  themselves,"  said 
Andr6.  This  was  the  opportunity  he  had  been  waiting 
for— something  in  Arnold's  own  writing  that  would  hold 
him,  as  much  as  anything  could,  to  his  bargain. 

'<  If  these  were  discovered  on  you  they  would  betray  all," 
replied  Arnold. 

"  I  must  risk  that.  There  is  little  danger  between  here 
and  the  river ;  and  on  the  river  I  shall  hold  them  in  my 
hand,  tied  up  with  a  stone,  so  that  I  can  sink  them  at  once 
if  necessary." 

"  We  have  had  good  luck  so  far,  but  I  am  afraid  this  is 
tempting  Providence,"  rejoined  Arnold,  who,  like  most 
27* 


■iiill 


318 


PEMBERTON  J 


men,  good  or  bad,  evidently  considered  the  success  of  his 
schemes  a  sure  sign  that  Providence  had  favored  them. 

«<  This  one  risk  we  must  run!"  exclaimed  Andr6  in  a 
resolute  tone.  "  As  you  said,  a  little  danger,  more  or  less, 
is  not  of  much  consequence." 

"Well,  be  it  so!"  replied  Arnold  gloomily.  Was  it 
that  he  really  feared  the  danger,  or  realized  that  a  with- 
drawal from  his  treason  was  no  longer  possible  to  him  ? 

"  And  now,"  said  Andr6,  "  let  me  go  carefully  over  all 
these  plans.  I  shall  probably  lead  the  attack  myself,  and 
am  anxious  not  only  that  it  should  succeed,  but  that,  if 
possible,  not  a  single  life  should  be  sacrificed." 

We  need  not  repeat  the  numerous  questions  and  answers 
which  ensued,  before  the  British  officer  felt  himself  com- 
pletely master  of  the  details  of  the  proposed  movement. 
The  very  guns  and  other  signals  to  announce  the  British 
progress  were  agreed  upon.  When  within  three  miles  of 
the  place,  two  British  officers  in  American  uniforms  were 
to  ride  up  at  full  gallop  to  Arnold's  headquarters,  receive 
his  final  words,  and  hasten  back  to  the  English  commander. 
Never,  perhaps,  was  a  treasonable  plot  more  ably  elabor- 
ated. But  "the  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against 
Sisera!" 


WEST  rOINT  IN  1 780. 


on; 

)nsiclered  the  success  of  his 
ence  h?.d  favored  them, 
n  !"  exclaimed  Andr6  in  a 
I  little  danger,  more  or  less, 

Arnold  gloomily.     Was  it 
er,  or  realized  that  a  with- 
I  longer  possible  to  him  ? 
let  me  go  carefully  over  all 
lead  the  attack  myself,  and 
should  succeed,  but  that,  if 
d  be  sacrificed." 
lerous  questions  and  answers 
ish  officer  felt  himself  com- 
f  the  proposed  movement, 
als  to  announce  the  British 
When  within  three  miles  of 
in  American  uniforms  were 
nold's  headquarters,  receive 
c  to  the  English  commander, 
able  plot  more  ably  elabor- 
leir  courses  fought  against 


r IN  1 780. 


OR,  ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  3IO 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  PERILOUS   JOURNEY. 

I  carry  with  me  England  and  her  fortunes- 
Give  me,  you  saints,  a  safe  delivery  I 

It  was  all  arranged;  and  Arnold  had  gathered  up  his 
charts  and  plans,  and  taken  his  departure.  At  hib  earnest 
solicitation,  Andr6  had  secreted  the  six  important  papers 
which  he  had  resolved  to  keep  as  a  guarantee  of  the  traitor's 
good  faith,  placing  them  between  the  soles  of  his  feet  and 
his  stockings.  And  now,  the  British  officer,  somewhat 
fatigued  from  the  want  of  sleep  on  the  previous  night, 
awaited  the  coming  of  the  darkness  to  be  conveyed  back 
to  the  Vulture. 

He  passed  a  miserable  day,  as  maybe  supposed.  There 
he  was,  in  the  enemy's  lines,  liable  at  any  moment  to  cap- 
ture. Through  his  chamber  window  he  could  see  the  Vul- 
ture, which  had  resumed  her  former  position.  The  vessel 
was  lying  between  three  and  four  miles  off,  down  the  wide 
river,  almost  at  this  place  a  bay  in  its  magnitude,  evidently 
awaiting  his  coming.  Oh  that  he  had  the  wings  of  a  bird, 
that  he  might  fly  on  board,  and  be  once  more  in  safety! 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  his  host  appeared, 
and  disquieted  him  still  further.  Mr.  Smith  alleged  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  get  him  back  the  same  way  he 
had  come.  The  boatmen  had  been  frightened  by  the 
cannonade,  and  obstinately  refused  to  go.  He  himself 
was  suffering  from  an  ague  brought  on  by  the  last  night's 
exposure,  and  it  would  be  as  much  as  his  life  was  worth 
to  venture  again  on  the  water.  And  to  these  were  added 
the  other  excuses,  reasonable  and  unreasonable,  which  a 
weak  man  who  has  obstinately  made  up  his  mind  pot  to 
do  a  certain  thing,  always  has  on  hand^ 


:? 


320 


PEMBERTON  ; 


t-'l'i 


Andr^was  indignant— he  demanded  to  see  the  boatmen 
himself;  but  they  had  gone  off  somewhere— at  least  Smith 
so  alleged.  He  was  in  fact  at  the  mercy  of  that  gentle- 
man, and  must  do  as  he  said,  or  get  back  the  best  way  he 
could  without  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Andr^,  at  length,  bitterly,  "  what  do  you 
propose,  Mr.  Smith?" 

'«  To  cross  the  river  at  the  Ferry  this  evenmg,  and  go 
by  land,"  replied  that  gentleman  complacently. 

"What !  in  this  dress?"  exclaimed  Andre,  glancing  at 
his  British  uniform.  "  I  should  be  arrested  at  the  Ferry, 
as  certainly  as  I  reached  there." 

"  I  have  provided  for  all  that,"  replied  his  host.  "  Ihe 
General  gave  me  a  pass  both  for  myself  and  Mr.  John 
Anderson  to  White  Plains,  and  I  have  in  the  closet  here  a 
coat  and  hat  which  will  fit  you  famously." 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  risk  I  should  expose  myself  to 
by  assuming  that  disguise?"  questioned  Andr6  sternly. 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  danger,  Mr.  Anderson— not  a  parti- 
cle     If  you  meet  the  Americans,  you  have  General  Ar- 
nold's pass ;  if  you  meet  the  British,  all  they  can  do  is  to 
take  you  where  you  want  to  go.     I  am  not  a  soldier,  ^ 
you  are-and  doubtless  a  brave  one-but  even  I  should 
not  be  afraid  to  take  a  little  risk  like  that." 
"  I  will  not  do  it !"  said  Andr6  resolutely. 
"What  will  you  do  then,  Captain?"  asked  Smith,  ven- 
turing  a  guess  at  the  rank  of  his  guest ;  for  Andr6's  uniform 
did  not  denote  his  precise  rank.     "  I  promised  the  Gen- 
eral that  I  would  see  you  safely  back  ;  but  of  course  that 
depended  upon  your  following  my  instructions.     If  you 
will  not  do  as  I  wish,  of  course  my  door  is  open,  and  you 
can  take  any  other  course  you  prefer.^    Only  do  not  hold 
me  responsible  for  the  consequences." 
Smith  evidently  did  not  know  to  whom  he  was  talking 


)n; 

landed  to  sc;e  the  boatmen 
somewhere — at  least  Smith 
the  mercy  of  that  gentle- 
r  get  back  the  best  way  he 

th,  bitterly,  "  what  do  you 

lerry  this  evening,  and  go 
an  complacently, 
laimed  Andre,  glancing  at 
d  be  arrested  at  the  Ferry, 

,"  replied  his  host.  "The 
I  for  myself  and  Mr.  John 
[  I  have  in  the  closet  here  a 
,  famously." 

I  should  expose  myself  to 
uestioned  Andr6  sternly. 
VIr.  Anderson — not  a  parti- 
:ans,  you  have  General  Ar- 
Iritish,  all  they  can  do  is  to 
0.     I  am  not  a  soldier,  as 
ve  one — ^but  even  I  should 
;sk  like  that." 
idr6  resolutely, 
aptain?"  asked  Smith,  ven- 
is  guest ;  for  Andre's  uniform 
ik.     "I  promised  the  Gen- 
y  back  ;  but  of  course  that 
ig  my  instructions.     If  you 
;e  my  door  is  open,  and  you 
1  prefer.     Only  do  not  hold 
uences." 
low  to  whom  he  was  talking 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  32 1 

—evidently  had  no  idea  of  the  importance  of  the  business 
his  visitor  was  intrusted  with.  Arnold,  it  was  dear,  had 
not  taken  him  into  his  confidence.  If  Arnold  had  not,  it 
would  not  do  for  him,  Andr6,  to  do  it.  And  yet  how 
could  he  overrule  him,  and  bring  him  to  his  senses,  with- 
out exposing  more  than  Arnold,  who  knew  him,  evidently 
thought  safe.     Never  was  man  more  puzzled. 

If  he  assumed  the  disguise,  he  was  acting  in  the  very 
face  of  his  General's  instructions— exposing  himself  in 
case  of  capture  to  the  most  fearful  and  dangerous  suspici- 
ons—putting himself,  even  if  not  captured,  in  a  false  posi- 
tion, from  which  his  inmost  soul  recoiled. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  refused  to  act  in  accord- 
ance with  his  host's  counsel,  what  should  he  do  ?  In  his 
uniform,  he  could  not  stir  out  of  his  room  in  the  daytime 
without  danger— and  where,  in  the  night,  could  he  find  a 
boat  to  put  him  on  board  the  Vulture  ?  Debating  these 
things  in  his  mind,  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  a 
turmoil  01  indecision  arid  indignation. 

His  host  awaited  his  decision  with  ill-concealed  im- 
patience. At  last  he  said,  "  You  do  not  seem  to  be  aware, 
Captain,  that  while  you  remain  in  that  uniform,  you  are 
not  only  in  constant  danger  of  bringing  yourself  into  trou- 
ble, but  also  of  compromising  me.  Suppose  a  party  of 
Lee's  dragoons  should  ride  up  and  discover  you— do  you 
think  they  would  let  me  go  scc.-free?" 

"You  might  have  a  little  trouble,  but  General  Arnold 
would  see  you  through  harmless." 

"General  Arnold,  I  reckon,  wouldn't  thank  you  or  me 
for  stirring  up  this  matter." 

"  I  can  see  no  good  reason  why  you  should  not  put  me 
on  board  the  Vulture  this  evening,  as  originally  planned," 
rejoined  Andr6. 

Smith  made  a  gesture  of  impatience,     "  Well,  I  will 


% 


(■.'•• 


,    !i 


il 


I  81 


-23  PEMBERTON  J 

tell  you,"  said  he.  "  The  men  will  not  ',o.  They  went 
the  first  time,  as  I  did,  because  we  were  willing  to  put  our- 
selves into  a  little  danger  to  oblige  Colonel  Robmson, 
who  you  know  used  to  be  a  great  man  in  these  parts  But 
when  they  found  that  it  was  not  the  Colonel  alter  all,  but 
you,  a  perfect  stranger,  they  thought  they  had  been  ahttie 
tricked  Now  there  is  more  danger  than  then,  smce  that 
four-pounder  is  down  there ;  and  they  know  that  any  boat 
that  did  not  show  a  flag,  especially  in  the  night,  would  be 
fired  at  just  as  soon  as  seen.  '  If  the  General  wants  you 
put  on  board,'  they  say,  '  let  him  send  his  own  barge 
with  a  flag,  and  put  you  there.'  Now,  what  answer  can  I 
make  to  all  this?" 

'« I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  reasons  to  my  men  for 
what  I  order  them  to  do,"  replied  A.ndr6  haughtily. 

"Yes,  yes,  that  will  do  very  well  in  the  army,"  rejoined 
Smith  "But  these  men,  though  tenants  of  mine,  have  a 
will  of  their  own.  If  it  were  not  that  they  hate  the  war, 
and  wish  it  were  all  over,  one  way  or  the  other-they  don't 
care  much  which-they  would  not  have  gone  in  the  first 

"  If  you'll  find  me  a  skiff,  I'll  put  myself  on  board. 

"  I  should  not  know  where  to  go  to  find  one.  The  river 
guards  appropriated  every  one  of  them  long  ago." 

There  seemed  nothing  else  to  do  than  to  act  in  accord- 
ance with  his  host's  suggestion.  "  I  suppose  I  must  do  as 
you  think  best,"  at  last  said  Andr6,  "but  it  is  the  most 
despicable  thing  that  I  ever  was  forced  to  do  in  the  whole 
course  of  my  life,  and  I  would  not  do  it  now,  were  not  the 
safety  of  others  involved  with  my  own."  ,  ^    .  , 

.'You  take  it  too  seriously,  Captain,"  returned  Smith 
lightly.  "  One  red  coat  is  just  as  good  as  another— and 
better  too  in  this  case." 

So  saying,  he  opened  the  closet,  and  produced  a  coat 


jn; 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


323 


I  will  not  '^o. 


They  went 
we  were  willing  to  put  cur- 
oblige  Colonel  Robinson, 
It  man  in  tliese  parts.  But 
t  the  Colonel  alter  all,  but 
)ught  they  had  been  a  little 
inger  than  then,  since  that 
d  they  know  that  any  boat 
ally  in  the  night,  would  be 
'  If  the  General  wants  you 
him  send  his  own  barge, 
Now,  what  answer  can  I 

ving  reasons  to  my  men  for 
lied  A.ndr6  haughtily, 
well  in  the  army,"  rejoined 
igh  tenants  of  mine,  have  a 

not  that  they  hate  the  war, 
ray  or  the  other— they  don't 

not  have  gone  in  the  first 

U  put  myself  on  board." 
o  go  to  find  one.    The  river 

of  them  long  ago." 
to  do  than  to  act  in  accord- 
1.     "I  suppose  I  must  do  as 
Andr6,  "but  it  is  the  most 
as  forced  to  do  in  the  whole 

not  do  it  now,  were  not  the 
my  own." 

r,  Captain,"  returned  Smith 
ust  as  good  as  another — and 


of  a  dark  crimson,  garnished  with  gold  lace,  a  common  dress 
for  a  gentleman  at  tliat  period— but  somewhat  faded  and 
threadbare  from  use.  A  well-worn  beaver  hat  also  was 
brought  forth.  Andre  took  them  and  substituted  these 
for  his  military  coat  and  hat ;  the  remainder  of  his  dress, 
nanliin  waistcoat  and  small-clothes,  with  handsome  white- 
topped  boots,  was  allowed  to  go  unaltered.  Then,  putting 
over  all  his  well-worn  watch-coat,  with  its  heavy  cape,  and 
buttoning  it  closely  about  his  neck,  to  conoeal,  as  it  were, 
even  from  himself  his  hateful  disguise,  he  announced  that 
he  was  ready. 

It  took  a  little  time  to  get  the  horses  saddled,  so  that  it 
was  almost  twilight  before  they  set  out,  being  accompa- 
nied by  a  negro  servant.  They  crossed  King's  Ferry 
about  twilight.  Smith  stopping  to  chat  and  drink  with  the 
American  officers  on  the  other  or  eastern  side  of  the  river, 
while  Andr6  and  the  servant  rode  slowly  onward. 

Between  eight  and  nine  o'clock  they  came  across  an 
American  patrol,  under  Captain  Boyd,  who  demanded 
their  errand.  Smith  showed  their  passes,  and  declared 
aside  to  the  captain,  that  they  were  on  their  way  to  obtain 
intelligence  for  Arnold. 

Boyd  said  that  the  road  before  them  was  infested  with 
Cow-boys,  as  the  predatory  bands  of  Tories  on  the  neutral 
ground  between  the  two  armies  were  called,  and  that  it 
would  be  madness  to  go  further  that  night. 

Andr6  would  have  pressed  on,  but  Smith  thought  it 
safer  or  less  suspicious  to  take  Captain  Boyd's  advice,  so 
they  sought  the  dwelling  of  a  neighboring  Scotchman,  who 
cheerfully  offered  to  give  them  a  night's  lodging.  So  far 
they  had  come  safely. 


closet,  and  produced  a  coat 


't 


324 


PEMBERTON ; 


"-■iil 


'    \f 


CHAPTER  V. 

FOR   THF,   THIRD   TIME. 
We  arc  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of. 

S/iaks/fart. 

Drawing  off  his  heavy  military  boots,  and  divesting 
himself  of  his  surtout  and  his  coat,  Andr6  was  prepared 
for  the  night's  slumbers.     But  before   extinguishing  the 
tallow-candle  with  which  their  host  had  provided  them, 
Andr6  turned  his  back  to  his  companion,  and  drew  out  a 
little  miniature  from  where  it  hung,  attached  to  a  blue 
ribbon,  beneath  the  linen  of  his  bosom.     It  was  a  very 
striking  likeness  of  Helen  Graham,  painted  from  memory 
by  his  own  hand.     Such  had   been  the  excitement  and 
deep  interest  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  that,  devoted 
lover  as  he  was,  he  had  not  even  thought  of  his  beautiful 
mistress,  much  less  looked  upon  her  likeness.     The  im- 
portant negotiations  entrusted  to  him,  his  embarrassing 
personal  position,  involving  not  only  his  own  safety,  but 
that  of  others,  and  the  success  or  failure  of  a  deeply- 
planned  scheme,  pregnant  with  momentous  results,  had 
banished  all  softer  thoughts  from  his  mind.     But  now, 
nothing  was  necessary  to  be  thought    or  done  for   his 
General  and  his  King,  and  the  power  of  habit  asserted  it- 
self—first, his  brief  but  earnest  prayer,  then  a  glance  at 
the  pictured  face  of  his  betrothed. 

Andr6  thought  that  he  slept  the  sounder  and  sweeter  for 
both  these  things— and  that  if  he  dreamed,  he  was  more 
certain  to  be  transported  in  imagination  to  the  side  of  his 
lady,  to  hear  the  rich  music  of  her  voice,  to  be  thrilled  by 
the  tender  glances  of  her  brilliant  and  beautiful  eyes. 
•   Doubtless  it  usually  was  so.     But  the  charm  this  night  did 


'N; 


I  V. 

D  TIME. 

stuff 
lade  of. 

Shakspeare. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS   AGO. 


325 


tary  boots,  and  divesting 
coat,  Andr6  was  prepared 

before   extinguishing  the 

host  had  provided  them, 
ompanion,  and  drew  out  a 

hung,  attached  to  a  blue 
is  bosom.  It  was  a  very 
am,  painted  from  memory 

been  the  excitement  and 
yr-four  hours,  that,  devoted 
n  thought  of  his  beautiful 
jn  her  likeness.     The  im- 

t.o  him,  his  embarrassing 
ot  only  his  own  safety,  but 
5s  or  failure  of  a  deeply- 
th  momentous  results,  had 
rom  his  mind.     But  now, 

thought    or  done  for   his 

power  of  habit  asserted  it- 
5t  prayer,  then  a  glance  at 
led. 
the  sounder  and  sweeter  for 

he  dreamed,  he  was  more 
lagination  to  the  side  of  his 
■  her  voice,  to  be  thrilled  by 
rilliant  and  beautiful  eyes. 
Jut  the  charm  this  night  did 


„,,t  work— seemed  overpowered  by  some  baleful  and  malig- 
nant inlluence. 

He  lay  for  some  time  wakeful  and  watchful.  It  ap- 
peared impossible  for  him  to  compose  his  mind  so  tliat  he 
,  ouUl  sleep.  .\nd  wlien  at  length  his  senses  settled  into 
unconsciousness,  his  thoughts  still  heaved  and  surged  like 
the  waves  after,  or  before,  a  terrible  storm. 

And  then  at  last  he  dreamed—the  dream  of  his  life ! 
For  the  third  time— that  dream  which  he  had  related  at 
the  pleasant  dinner-table  of  Mrs.  Temberton,  the  evening 
of  the  adventure  on  the  Wissahickon.  He  was  riding- 
alone.  He  came  to  the  brow  of  a  gentle  declivity.  All 
around  seemed  familiar  to  him.  He  rode  on.  There  was 
the  gigantic  poplar,  with  its  immense  branches,  gnarled 
and  twisted,  descending  at  places  to  the  earth,  and  then 
rising  again.  Suddenly  a  man  in  British  uniform  stepped 
fortli,  with  presented  musket,     "  Halt !" 

The  loudness  of  this  command  seemed  to  awaken  him, 
«It  is  curious,"  thought  he.  "  That  old  dream.  The 
third  time.  Well,  I  am  glad  the  fellow  was  in  British 
uniform,"  with  a  smile,  as  he  composed  himself  once  more 
to  slumber. 

Again  he  dreamed.  This  time  it  was  different— but 
more  fearful.  It  was  the  Sibyl's  prediction— but  clothed 
apparently  with  the  reality  of  life.  Acted  out  bodily  and 
mentally— not  to  be  distinguished  for  the  time  from  real- 
ity-all palpable,  painful,  tumultuous,  terrible!  There 
was  the  gallows.  There  he  stood— felt  himself  to  be 
standing.  He  mounted  the  wagon,  his  hands  were  bound, 
the  noose  was  placed  around  his  neck.  He  awoke  with 
a  cry  of  horror,  that  aroused  his  slumbering  companion, 
"What's  the  matter,  Captain?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.     I  had  a  horrible  nightmare,  and 
cried  out." 
28 


1  ^iii 


ill! 


326 


PEMBERTON  J 


!    It  "Oh,  that's  all,"  said  Mr.   Smith,  turning  over,  and 

:     I  settling  himself  to  his  slumbers. 

'     |:     ■  Anar6  wiped  the  cold  sweat  from  h.s  brow.     "I  know 

r  not  what  is  the  matter  with  me  to-night,"  thought  he. 

':  '■  "  That  was  a  fearful  dream— that  Witch's  horrible  scene 

'  '  over  again.     It  may  mean  nothing— probably  does  mean 

nothing.     But— whatever  it  mean— it  cannot  mean  any- 
thing that  I,  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  cannot  meet 
bravely  and  firmly  endure.     Especially  if  Westminster 
!  Abbey  come  after  all  "—and  he  smiled  a  proud  smile. 

i  ■  Still  no  settled,  peaceful  slumber.     All  wild,  heaving, 

tumultuous— though  nothing  further  shaped  and  definite. 
*^.         With  the  first  faint  dawn  of  morning  Andr6  wakened,  and 
*         was  eager  to  leave  his  bed,  and  go  out  into  the  cheerful 
:      i  day. 


'■^ifl 


in; 

Smith,  turning  over,  and 

romhis  brow.  "I  know 
,e  to-night,"  thought  he. 
at  Witch's  horrible  scene 
ling — probably  does  mean 
an — it  cannot  mean  any- 
L  gentleman,  cannot  meet 
Especially  if  Westminster 
e  smiled  a  proud  smile, 
imber.  All  wild,  heaving, 
rther  shaped  and  definite, 
rning  Andr6  wakened,  and 
1  go  out  into  the  cheerful 


OR,  ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO.  3*7 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON   THE   WAV. 

Our  glories  float  between  the  earth  and  heaven. 
Like  cloud*  which  seem  pavilions  of  the  sun, 
And  are  the  playthings  of  the  casual  wind. 

—Bulwtr's  RuktlUn. 

As  Andrd  opened  the  front  door  of  the  farm-house,  and 
stepped  out  into  the  porch,  the  first  faint  amber  light  of 
morning  was  beginning  to  illuminate  the  perfectly  clear 
horizon.      Glorious  in  the  East,  above  the  dawn,  still 
shone  the  Morning  Star— Lucifer  the  Magnificent !     And 
as  the  British  officer  stood  and  watched  the  gradual  com- 
ing of  the  day,  he  felt— poet  and  artist  as  he  was— that    • 
fervor  of  admiration,  which  almost  has  a  tinge  of  remorse 
at  its  own  inadequacy  fully  to   realize   or   express   the 
mingled  sublimity  and  beauty  which  it  beholds.     It  is  the 
homage  which  the  Finite  pays  to  the  Infinite.     That  deep 
feeling  of  "  I  cannot  paint  thee,  cannot  even  express,  or 
fully  understand  thee !     I  see  thou  art  sublimely  beautiful 
—but  I  mourn  that  I  cannot  contain  thee !     And  now 
thou  art  passing  from  my  view— and  if  thou  didst  not  thus 
pass,  thou  wouldst  become  as  common  and  tame  to  me  as 
common  day,  with  all  its  wondrous  beauty,  variety,  and 
grandeur.  .  Thus  the  Infinite  which  I  cannot  grasp,  grows 
Finite  to  me  with  use  and  custom.     Therefore  pass  away, 
oh,  glorious  sunrise — pass  away,  with  thy  amber  and  green 
and  blue  and  crimson  and  gold— lest  thou,  too,  become  to 
me  prosaic  and  commonplace !" 

Thus  thought  Andr6,  as  so  many  poetical  minds  had 
thought  before  him,  since  first  the  day-spring  lighted  up 
the  East,  since  first  the  day-death  faded  in  glory  in  the 
West.     Thought,  also,  of  how  the  sun  goes  rolling  on,  ac- 


'4 . 


-i  :■&■;■ 


i    '   (it' 


^ir,:! 


i    iU" 


i 


328 


pemuf.rton  ; 


comi)anied  by  those  two  triumphal  archts  of  sunrise  and 
sunset,  never  failing  him  for  a  moment,  only  shifting  their 
pUucsof  abode— llic  constant  attendants  and  eviilcnces  of 
his  glory,  the  splendidly  attired  heralds  that  announce  the 
coming  and  proclaim  the  departure  of  the  sovereign  Lord 

of  Earth. 

And  as  Andr6  stood  there  in  the  early  freshness  of  the 
morning,  the  cool  breezes  seemed  also  to  blow  through  his 
brain,  and  dispel  the  gloomy  visions  of  the  night.  The 
weight  which  had  seemed  to  be  resting  upon  his  mmd 
when  he  had  awakened,  had  already  passed  away,  and 
even  tlie  memory  of  it  seemed  obscure  and  faded.  It  is 
curious  what  slaves  we  are  to  darkness  and  the  night.  The 
fear  that  appals  at  midnight— which  causes  the  heart  to 
sink  and  the  pulse  to  throb— loses  its  terror  in  the  clear, 
full  light  of  morning.  Why  is  it  that  darkness,  and  even 
candle-light,  make  such  cowards  of  us  all  ? 

Rousing  their  negro  attendant,  Andre  directed  him  to 
saddle  the  horses ;  and  the  moment  Mr.  Smith  came  down 
they  mounted,  and  were  soon,  as  they  deemed,  entirely 
out  of  reach  of  the  American  patrols.  This  fact,  combined 
with  the  fineness  of  the  day,  and  the  exhilaration  of  riding, 
made  Andre  feel  like  another  man.  Such  was  his  exuber- 
ance of  spirit  that  it  overflowed  even  toward  Mr,  Smith, 
who  ever  afterward  declared  that  he  had  never  met  with  a 
more  delightful  companion— so  full  of  pleasant  conversa- 
tion was  he ;  while  the  charm  of  his  mere  presence  was  a 
constant  delight. 

They  were  now  in  the  Neutral  Ground,  and  the  grass- 
grown  and  deserted  roads,  the  gates  torn  from  their  hinges, 
the  crops  that  frequently  lay  ungathered  and  rotten,  and 
the  absence  both  of  men  and  cattle  from  the  fields,  all 
united  in  proclaiming  the  hapless  condition  to  which  the 
war  had  reduced  the  garden  county  of  Westchester.    For 


!'■  :s 


in; 

)hal  arches  of  sunrise  and 
iiomciU,  only  shifting  their 
ttcndants  and  evidences  uf 
heralds  that  announce  tlic 
ture  of  the  sovereign  Lord 

I  the  early  freshness  of  the 
ed  also  to  blow  through  his 
'isions  of  the  night.  The 
be  resting  upon  his  mind 
already  passed  away,  and 
obscure  and  faded.  It  is 
irkncss  and  the  night.  The 
-which  causes  the  heart  to 
OSes  its  terror  in  the  clear, 
,  it  that  darkness,  and  even 
Is  of  us  all  ? 

tit,  Andre  directed  him  to 
nent  Mr.  Smith  came  down 
1,  as  they  deemed,  entirely 
.trols.  This  fact,  combined 
d  the  exhilaration  of  riding, 
Tian.  Such  was  his  exuber- 
sd  even  toward  Mr.  Smith, 
lat  he  had  never  met  with  a 
o  full  of  pleasant  conversa- 
of  his  mere  presence  was  a 

itral  Ground,  and  the  grass- 
gates  torn  from  their  hinges, 
ungathered  and  rotten,  and 
d  cattle  from  the  fields,  all 
iless  condition  to  which  the 
ounty  of  Westchester.    For 


OK,    ONE    HUNDRED   YEARS   AOO. 


329 


who  would  till  when  he  knew  that  in  all  probability  the 
fruits  of  his  toil  would  be  wrested  from  him  ?  liut  although 
these  evidences  of  the  rapine  of  uvm  could  deface,  they 
could  not  ilestroy  the  beauty  of  the  landscape.  For  the 
woods  were  in  the  first  (lush  of  Autuum,  and  the  country 
through  which  they  passed  pictures(iue  beyond  description. 
From  every  eminence  Andre  gazed  with  fresh  delight  upon 
the  glorious  hills  of  the  Highlands,  looking  harmonious 
and  mystical  in  their  misty  robes  of  blue,  and  thought, 
these  truly  are  the  Delectable  mountains.  Gazing  at  them 
he  forgot  for  the  time  his  disguise,  the  perils  of  his  posi- 
tion, the  great  war  which  convulsed  the  land,  and  thought 
only  of  the  glory  of  this  wonderful  earth,  so  passing  all 
description. 

But  he  was  suddenly  recalled  to  sublunary  things,  by 
seeing  another  traveller  approaching.  This  horseman  wore 
a  cloak,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  decide  whether  he  was 
or  was  not  a  civilian  ;  but,  as  he  came  near,  Andr6  saw  at 
a  glance  that  the  face  of  the  traveller  was  familiar  to  him. 
So  he  resolutely  kept  his  head  turned  to  one  side,  until  the 
stranger  was  nearly  abreast  of  them ;  and,  as  they  passed  each 
other  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  handkerchief,  thus  almost  con- 
cealing his  face  from  view.  The  horseman  gazed  earnestly 
at  him,  but  passed  on  with  a  brief  salutation  and  without 
apparent  recognition.  Andr6  drew  a  deep  breath.  He 
saw  that  it  was  Lieutenant  Morris,  but  whether  the  latter 
had  recognized  him  also,  he  could  not  certainly  know, 
though  he  felt  tolerably  confident  from  the  Lieutenant's 
manner  that  he  had  not. 

After  riding  a  few  miles  further,  Mr.  Smith  proposed 
that  they  should  halt  at  a  wayside  cottage  which  they  were 
approaching,  and  see  if  they  could  not  get  their  horses  fed, 
as  well  as  some  breakfast  for  themselves.  Its  mistress 
agreed  to  supply  their  wants,  thougli  she  told  them  with  a 
28* 


^'1 


/ 


,y 


■> 


-1" 
'I 


\  I 


li 


i':  '  :i 


m 


330 


PEMnERTON  ; 


sad  coimtciiani  c  tli.it  she  had  been  visited  during  the  ni^hl 
by  a  party  uf  iiuiramlcrs—"  cither  Skinners  or  C'uw-boys," 
slic  knew  nut  which— and  iiUnidercd  of  all  she  possessed, 
save  some  ( orn-ineal  and  hay,  and  a  single  tow.  With 
the  n\i;d,  however,  siie  soon  prepared  them  a  dish  of  that 
New  World  porridge,  which  bhc  called  soi//>ti<i>i,  but  whic  h 
the  I'ennsylvanians  call  mush,  and  the  New  Knglanders 
hasty  pudiling;  and  which,  when  eaten  with  milk  or  with 
molasses,  or;usa  certain  distinguished  personage  prefers  it, 
with  both,  is  one  of  the  most  nutritious,  wholesome  and 
pleasant  dishes  for  a  hungry  man  that  the  wide  world 
afforils. 

Andr6  and  his  companion  ate  it  with  that  hearty  relish 
which  a  ride  in  the  brisk  morning  air  is  apt  to  create.  It 
was  an  old  actjuaintance  of  Andre's,  for  he  had  often  eaten 
it  when  a  prisoner  at  Lancaster  among  the  Pennsylvania 
Dutch. 

At  the  conclusion  of  their  repast,  Mr.  Smith  announced 
to  the  Knglish  officer  his  intention  of  letting  him  take  the 
rest  of  his  way  alone.  He  had  agreed  with  General  Arnold, 
if  they  went  by  land,  to  see  Andr6  safely  to  White  Plains. 
But,  for  some  reason  or  other— perhaps  because  he  thought 
it  useless,  perhaps  because  he  wished  to  be  rid  of  the  com- 
pany of  a  man  who  was  evidently  far  other  than  he  seemed 
—he  did  not  i)erform  his  promise.  If  he  had,  what  might 
not  have  been  the  result  ?  Andr6  might  have  gone  safely 
under  Smith's  guidance,  for  they  almost  certainly  would 
have  taken  the  direct  road  to  White  Plains,  or,  if  they  had 
not,  would  probably  have  gone  unchallenged,  for  Smith 
was  personally  known  through  all  that  part  of  the  country. 
But  Smith  did  as  he  did.  Was  it  merely  chance?  Is 
there  any  such  thing  as  chance  in  the  course  of  great  events, 
even  if  there  be  in  the  course  of  small  ones?  Who  can 
answer  ? 


n; 

L-n  visited  during  the  night 
:t  Skinners  or  Cow-boys," 
Icicil  of  all  she  possessed, 

and  a  single  cow.  With 
pared  them  a  dish  of  that 

culled  soii/>iUiii,  but  whi(  h 
and  the  New  Kn^landers 
;n  eaten  with  milk  or  with 
lisheil  personage  prefers  it, 
nutritious,  wholesome  and 
man  that  the  wide  world 

e  it  with  that  hearty  relish 
ng  air  is  apt  to  create.  It 
r6's,  for  he  had  often  eaten 
r  among  the  Pennsylvania 

last,  Mr.  Smith  announced 
ion  of  letting  him  take  the 
greed  with  General  Arnold, 
dr6  safely  to  White  Plains, 
perhaps  because  he  thought 
ished  to  be  rid  of  the  com- 
ly  far  other  than  he  seemed 
ise.  If  he  had,  what  might 
lr6  might  have  gone  safely 
ley  almost  certainly  would 
/hite  Plains,  or,  if  they  had 
e  unchallenged,  for  Smith 
all  that  part  of  the  country. 
Was  it  merely  chance  ?  Is 
n  the  course  of  great  events, 
5  of  small  ones  ?    Who  can 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED   VF.AKS  AOO.  33I 

If  it  were  not  in  the  order  of  Providence  that  this  plot 
should  succeed,  why  was  it  not  nipped  at  an  earlier  stage? 
A  mere  shadow  of  suspicion  thrown  across  the  mind  of 
Washington,  the  result  of  some  casual  conversation  with 
Cireene  or  Lafayette — both  of  whom  disliked  Arnold,  and 
who  had  tTiemselves  the  warmest  confidence  of  their  Chief 
—and  the  command  of  West  Point  would  have  been  en- 
trusted to  o.nother,  while  Arnold  would  have  disappeared 
*"rom  tht  further  scenes  of  the  war. 

Or,  if  the  plot  was  to  be  allowed  to  come  to  a  head, 
and  have  its  open  failure  and  its  victim,  why  was  the 
guilty  Arnold  allowed  to  escape  almost  so  miraculously, 
and  the  comparatively  innocent  Andr«J  be  caught  in  the 
toils,  and  ofTered  up  as  a  scapegoat  to  the  vengeance  of  a 
justly  incensed  army  and  people? 

If  Providence  did  not  interfere,  how  was  it  that  the  plot 
was  so  curiously  and  marvellously  brought  to  naught  ?  If 
Providence  did  interfere,  why  was  it  that  the  toils  were 
drawn  around  Andr6,  the  gentle  and  generous  and  accom- 
plished, the  poet  and  the  artist,  while  Arnold,  who  be- 
trayed the  trust  of  his  commander,  the  confidence  of  his 
friend  and  benefactor,  and  the  cause  of  which  he  had  been 
one  of  the  most  determined  champions,  was  allowed-  to 
brush  aside  the  net  which  was  rapidly  closing  around  him, 
make  his  escape  to  the  enemy,  and  afterwards  dare  with 
impunity  all  the  hazards  of  active  war? 

We  can  ask,  but  we  cannot  answer  these  questions. 
They  lie  among  the  inscrutable  facts  of  life  and  history. 
Our  intuitions  cry  out  against  the  supposition  that  Chance 
and  not  an  Overruling  Power  directs  the  issue  of  great 
events ;  but  why  that  Power  seems  to  act  at  some  times, 
and  not  at  others — and  often  apparently  in  a  manner  so 
inconsistent  with  itself— baffles  our  best  reason  and  judg- 
ment to  decide. 


33a 


PEMBERTON  ; 


But  we  anticipate.  And  why  not?  Nature  anticipates. 
Before  the  bursting  of  the  storm,  you  hear  the  sad  wailing 
of  the  wind.  Before  the  earthquake,  you  feel  the  shudder 
of  the  anguished  globe.  And  as  we  approach  the  saddest 
scene  of  our  story,  the  wind  seems  to  wail  and  the  earth 
to  shudder  with  an  anguish  that  rolls  down  the  years, 
through  the  long  course  of  almost  a  century. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   ARREST   OF   ANDRE. 

So  fall  my  visioned  splendore  (a  the  earth  t 
And  all  our  schemes,  so  grand  and  absolute, 
Melt  like  a  bubble,  touched  by  some  child's  hand. 
Out  upon  Life — we  are  the  jest  and  sport 
Of  every  breeze  that  blows ! 

Before  parting  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Smith  explained 
particularly  to  the  British  officer  the  route  he  should  take ; 
though  it  seemed  impossible,  as  he  said,  to  go  astray,  so 
long  as  he  kept  in  a  southerly  direction.  After  crossing 
the  Croton  river,  a  mile  or  so  distant,  he  could  either 
keep  on  due  south  to  White  Plains,  or  take  the  road  which 
bore  off  toward  the  West,  and  which  would  soon  bring 
him  to  the  river  road,  which  ran  down  to  New  York  along 
the  Hudson. 

"  I  shall  take  the  latter  then,"  said  Andr6  at  once. 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  best  for  you,  Mr.  Anderson,  though 
if  I  were  going,  I  should  take  the  other.  You  may  meet 
Cow-boys  along  that  route." 

"And  Skinners  on  the  other.  I  prefer  to  meet  the 
Cow-boys." 


lton; 

hy  not  ?  Nriture  anticipates, 
rm,  you  hear  the  sad  wailing 
hquake,  you  feel  the  shudder 
1  as  we  approach  the  saddest 
seems  to  wail  and  the  earth 
that  rolls  down  the  years, 
most  a  century. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS   AGO. 


7733 


ER  VII. 

'  OF   ANDRE. 

plendors  fo  the  earth ! 
,  so  grand  and  absolute, 
ouched  by  some  child's  hand, 
ire  the  jest  and  sport 
[  blows ! 

akfast,  Mr.  Smith  explained 
cer  the  route  he  should  take ; 

as  he  said,  to  go  astray,  so 
rly  direction.  After  crossing 
r  so  distant,  he  could  either 
Plains,  or  take  the  road  which 
rnd  which  would  soon  bring 

ran  down  to  New  York  along 

jn,"  said  Andr6  at  once. 

r  you,  Mr.  Anderson,  though 

e  the  other.     You  may  meet 

ither.     I  prefer  to  meet  the 


"Neither  are  very  desirable  acquaintances,"  replied 
Mr.  Smith  laughing  ;  "but  of  the  two,  perhaps  the  Cow- 
boys would  treat  you  best.  Of  course,  if  you  do  meet  the 
Skinners,  you  had  better  show  your  pass.  The  Cow-boys, 
I  am  afraid,  would  think  rather  less  of  you  for  show- 
ing it." 

"  I  think  you  counsel  wisely."  . 

"I  believe  I  have  now  given  you  all  the  necessary 
directions.  I  wish  you  a  safe  and  pleasant  journey,  Mr. 
Anderson.  Remember  me  to  my  brother,  the  Chief  Just- 
ice, when  you  meet  him  in  New  York." 

"  I  will,  certainly.  And  I  wish  you  also  a  safe  and 
pleasant  trip  home  again,  Mr.  Smith.  Tell  the  General 
w1ien  you  see  him,  that  you  left  me  nearly  through,  and 
all  safe." 

And  they  parted.  Mr.  Smith  and  his  servant  returning 
the  way  they  came ;  not  recrossing  the  river  however,  but 
keeping  straight  on  to  Arnold's  headquarters. 

Andr6  rode  south,  crossing  the  Croton,  and  then  took 
the  turn  which  led  to  the  river.  An  hour  or  so,  and  he 
was  on  the  river  road.  It  was  a  beautiful  ride — hills, 
valleys,  and  continual  glimpses  of  the  Hudson  on  his  right 
—and  yet  his  mood  had  changed,  he  knew  not  why,  and 
he  felt  uneasy  and  disquieted.  He  had  entered  under  the 
cloud  ;  but  he  knew  it  not. 

As  he  rode  on  and  on,  the  gloomy  visions  of  the  previ- 
ous night  seemed  to  gather  within  him.  All  without  was 
sunshine,  save  where  dense  woods  and  deep  ravines  made 
a  darkness  as  of  twilight ;  but  his  heart  was  heavy,  and  his 
mind  was  covered  as  with  a  funeral  pall.  Suddenly  he 
pulled  up  his  horse  on  the  top  of  a  stony  hill,  and  looked 
around  and  before  him. 

The  scene  was  strangely  familiar.  He  seemed  to  recog- 
nize every  surrounding  object — even  to  a  huge  moss-grown 


334 


PEMBERTON  J 


n 


He  touched  his  hon>e  w.tlj  th  « h.p.  '"'i^l^    V  ^;,^ 

-  -  r %-STh.tr^^^^^^^^^ 

spiritually  brave.     T^^/^^^"/^^^      that  lay  across  the 

branches.  i„„.npfl  musket"  was  his 

.  Now  for  the  soldier  wirt^  h.s  levc Ued  ^^^"^  ^  .^^^ 

sudden  thought ;  and,  at  the  mome^  .  a  man  sp^^  g^^  ^.^ 
the  road  before  him,  and  with  his  gun  p 
breast,  cried  sternly— 

"  "'^'  n  1            n,;utarv  "t^'-  '^"d  word  recalled  the 
The  well-known  miUtaijr  ». 

British  officer  to  himself.  ^^  j^g 

He  pulled  up  his  horse,  and  took  a  rapul  g  ^^^ 

„.an,  whom  he  now  saw  --  "o^^^^'^^",^  tore  a  faded 

rades     He  was  ^^f^'J^^^^^s  either  a  British 

British  uniform.     It  was  eviuc 

soldier  or  a  Cow-boy^  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^e.    I 

"My  boys,"  said  Andre,     you  u 
see  you  belong  to  our  party."  ^^^  the  uniform, 

j:rvS;.hfr";*and.h»ena„ewas 


jently  splitting  it  asunder, 
diip,  and  slowly  descended 
lim      It  came  to  him  with 
ghtning;  it  was  the  scene 
oment  he  felt  so  unnerved 
;  from  his  horse, 
ind  summoned  up  his  cour- 
ti  not  only  physically  but 
his  horse  were  now  clatter- 
bridge  that  lay  across  the 
vine.     And  before  him,  on 
immense  Poplar  tree,  which 
le,  with  its  huge  contorted 

us  levelled  musket,"  was  his 
noment,  a  man  sprang  into 
rith  his  gun  pointed  at  his 

.♦fjr,.  and  word  recalled  the 

A  took  a  rapid  glance  at  the 
not  alone,  but  had  two  com- 

V  fellow,  and  wore  a  faded 
ident  he  was  either  a  British 

"you  must  not  delay  me.    I 

i^e  one  who  wore  the  uniform, 
er-spirit,  and  whose  name  was 

the  loyal  party,  of  course." 
,elonged  to  our  party,  by  the 
said  Paulding,  with  an  oath. 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


335 


"  I  do,  nevertheless,  -.y  boys.  I  am  a  British  officer, 
on  urgent  business  j  and  if  you  are  true  friends  of  the  royal 
cause,  you  will  not  delay  me." 

"I  say,  Paulding,"  cried  another  of  the  men,  "he 
looks  like  a  British  officer,  in  them  ere  riggings,  doesn't 
he?     Officers  generally  wear  rigimentals  where  i  come 

from." 
The  three  laughed  jeeringly.  ^^ 

"  To  prove  to  you  1  am  what  I  say,  look  at  this  watch,' 
said  Andre,  producing  a  gold  repeater.     ' '  The  gentlemen 
up  in  this  part  of  the  country  do  not  usually  carry  gold 
watches,  do  they  ?" 

<'And  even  if  you  were  a  British  officer,"  exclaimed 
Paulding,  "  blamed  little  we'd  care.  We  belong  to  the 
other  side,  Mr.  Officer." 

Andre's  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  Had  he  committed 
himself  too  soon?  This  man,  like  himself,  might  be  in 
disguise      Then  he  laughed  lightly. 

"  AU-  T  in  war,  my  boys,"  said  he.  "  A  man  must 
do  anv  ;  ■  ■  o  ;et  along.  The  truth  is,  I  am  travelling 
on  pubL  >iess  by  General  Arnold's  directions;  I'd 

have  shown  you  my  pass  at  first,  but  for  that  dirty  red- 
coat. You'll  see  this  is  all  right,"  and  he  handed  them 
the  pass  from  General  Arnold. 
' '  What's  the  blamed  thing  say,  Paulding  ?' ' 
"It's  d— d  bad  writing— as  most  writing  is,"  replied 
Paulding,  investigating  the  pass  with  as  much  intentness 
as  if  it  had  been  written  in  Chinese  or  Hindoo—"  but  I 
make  out  it  says  '  Pass '  and  '  White  Plains,'  and  '  B.  Ar- 
nold '  at  the  tail  of  it— but  whether  this  is  the  gentleman 
that  the  General  orders  us  to  pass,  the  Lord  only  knows, 

I  don't." 

"  I  bleeve  he's  a  rascally  trader,  with  lots  of  money, 
going  down  to  New  York  to  buy  and  smuggle  out  dry 


336 


PEMBERTON ; 


iv.,:.. 


\h 


goods  and  groceries,"  said  the  one  of  the  party  who  had 
not  sDoken.  and  who  was  named  Van  Wart. 

;.  Yes  Fobably  one  of  them  fellers  that  makes  us  poor 
country  folks  pay  ten   prices  for  our  rum  and  sugar, 
rhimed  in  Williams.  ,,       .  c  j 

•Let's  search  him,"  exclaimed  Paulding  "and  find 
out  what  he  is.  If  he's  one  of  them  blasted  speculators, 
he  has  plenty  of  money  somewheres  about  him. 

..Ye  ,  I  say  sarch  him;  we'll  find  something  that  1 
tell  whelher  he's  an  officer  or  a  speckilator,"  cned  Wd- 

^''- Hands  off  there!"    exclaimed  Andr6  indignantly 
wics"  g  h  mself  from  the  rough  hands  that  WiUuxms  had 
Ta  d  upon  him.     "  How  dare  you  presume  on  such  a  thmg 
in Ihe  fL  of  this  pass?    If  you  attempt  it,  I  warn  you 
you'll  ht:  to  answer  to  General  Arnold,  who  is  not  a  man 

"!;i;:!!:G::SdArnoldl"  cried  raulding.     '<Thelaw 
of  the  Neutral  Ground  is  the  law  of  thestrongest. 

.'I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Van  War  ,  'if  General 
Arnold  was  consarned  with  this  feller ;  he's  always  up  to 
some  speckilation  or  other  to  make  money.     A  friend  ol 
Tne  who  came  from  Philadelphy,  told  me  he  was  a^l  th 
time  at  it  down  there,  until  the  people  hated  him  like 

^'' <  w'ell,"  said  Paulding,  "  if  he  is  one  of  Arnold's  cro- 
nies w'll  take  a  share  too.  ^t's  not  fair  the  General 
Sid  be  making  all  the  money.  The  law  of  New  Yor 
savs  that  any  good  Whig  may  capture  and  confiscate  all 
Tupplles  intended  for  the  enemy ;  and  if  ^^^f^^^^,  ^^ 
going  to  New  York  with  a  lot  of  money,  it  is  our  dut>  as 
food  Whigs  to  confiscate  it,  and  put  it  to  better  uses.   Isn  t 

'"ai:\vr  and  Williams  swore  with  many  an  oath  that 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


337 


)n; 

jne  of  the  party  who  had 

I  Van  Wart. 

fellers  that  makes  us  poor 
for  our  rum  and  sugar," 

Tied  Paulding,  "  and  find 
them  blasted  speculators, 
leres  about  him." 

II  find  something  that  '11 
a  speckilator,"  cried  Wil- 

limed  Andr6  indignantly, 
h  hands  that  Williams  had 
ou  presume  on  such  a  thing 
you  attempt  it,  I  warn  you 
al  Arnold,  who  is  not  a  man 

:ried  Paulding.     "  The  law 
aw  of  the  strongest." 
.d  Van  Wart,  "  if  General 
lis  feller ;  he's  always  up  to 

make  money.     A  friend  of 
phy,  told  me  he  was  all  the 

the  people  hated  him  like 

if  he  is  one  of  Arnold's  cro- 
.  Jt's  not  fair  the  General 
,ney.  The  law  of  New  York 
ly  capture  and  confiscate  all 
ny;  and  if  this  gentleman  is 
t  of  money,  it  is  our  duty  as 
ind  put  it  to  better  uses.   Isn't 

wore  with  many  an  oath  that 


that  was  good  law ;  not  only  Neutral  Ground  law,  but 
good  law  anywhere. 

■'Now,  sir,"  continued  Pauldin-,  addressing  Andre, 
"  wc  give  you  your  choice.  You  may  either  come  out  of 
the  road,  and  into  the  bushes  with  us,  and  allow  yourself 
to  be  peaceably  searched,  or  you  may  make  a  row,  anil 
force  us  to  do  it  by  main  strength.  It  don't  make  much 
matter  to  us  which  you  do ;  there  are  three  of  us,  and 
either  of  us  as  strong  as  you  are ;  but  it  may  make  a  good 
deal  of  difference  to  you." 

"Supposing  you  do  not  find  that  large  sum  of  money, 
will  you  be  satisfied,  and  let  me  go  on  my  way?"^ 

"Well,  yes;  I  think  we  may  say  yes,  boys,"   replied 

Paulding.  ,  ,.       , 

"  It  is  a  bargain,  then,"  said  Andr6,  somewhat  relieved. 
"Here  is  my  purse,  containing  a  few  sovereigns,  and  here 
are  my  two  watches;"  for  in  accordance  with  a  common 
custom  of  the  fine  gentlemen  of  the  time,  Andre  then  wore 
two  watches,  a  gold  and  a  silver  one  ;  "  these  are  all  the 
valuables  you  will  find  upon  me." 

The  whole  party  then  moved  off  from  the  road,  to  a 
spot  under  the  gigantic  Tulip  Tree,  where  some  bushes  and 
the  low  bending  branches  of  the  tree  concealed  them  from 
the  view  of  any  traveller  who  should  pass  by. 

As  Andr6  took  off  his  coat  and  vest,  he  handed  them  to 
his  captors  for  examination. 

They  found  nothing,  though  they  felt  the  garments  very 
carefully  all  over,  to  ascertain  whether  anything  was  con- 
cealed between  the  cloth  and  the  lining,  even  ripping  the 
lining  open  at  several  places.  „        v 

"What  is  this?"  said  Van  Wart,  giving  a  pull  at  the 
ribbon  to  which  the  miniature  of  Helen  was  attached. 

Andr6  pulled  out  the  miniature.  "  My  boys,  I  ask  as  a 
special  favor,  that  I  be  allowed  to  retain  this.     It  would 

29 


I 


338 


PEMDERTON  ; 


not  be  of  much  value  to  you ;  it  is  of  the  greatest  value  to 

me."  ,       , 

A  smile  passed  over  the  faces  of  his  captors-but  they 
examined  the  miniature  with  no  small  degree  of  interest. 

"  A  d— d  beautiful  lady  that,  Mister!"  exclaimed  Paul- 
ding. "Boys,  we  won't  touch  that.  We've  got  sisters 
and  sweethearts  ourselves,  and  be  she  sister  or  sweetheart, 
and  it's  none  of  our  business  which  she  is,  we  don't  confis- 
cate things  of  that  sort." 

"  No,  he'd  have  to  be  a  blamed  mean  man  that  d  take 
that  from  you,"  cried  Williams. 

"Thank  you!"  said  Andr6,  while  his  face  lighted  up. 
"  May  both  sisters  and  sweethearts  smile  on  you  for  this  !" 

After  this  little  incident,  there  was  a  touch  of  softness  m 
the  language  and  manners  of  his  captors,  that  they  had  not 
manifested  before.     But  they  resolutely  went  on  with  their 

Still,  they  found  nothing.  At  last  they  came  to  his 
boots.  "  Sit  down,  sir,  on  that  stump,  we  must  pull  off 
your  boots  now,"  said  Paulding. 

"  My  boys,  you  might  as  well  have  believed  me  at  first. 
I  have  got  no  more  money  about  me.  There  is  no  money 
in  my  boots,  how  could  I  carry  money  there?" 

"  We  mean  to  be  sure  of  it,"  replied  Paulding.     "  Whde 

you  are  talking,  we  could  see  for  ourselves." 

•      The  boots  were  drawn  off;  Van  Wart  put  his  hands 

'  down  as  far  as  he  could,  but  could  feel  nothing.     "I 

should  like  to  have  a  pair  of  boots  like  those,"  said  he 

admiringly. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  them.  Van  ?"  cried  P.  uidir^. 
with  a  laugh ;  "  wear  them  on  your  hands,  or  give  them  te 
Betsy,  to  see  if  she  could  get  them  on?" 

They  all  glanced  down  at  their  huge  cowhide  shoes, 
with  a  loud  laugh.     The  boots  were  so  small  that  they 


OR,    ONE    HUNDUKD    YVAUS    AC.O, 


339 


;  of  the  greatest  value  to 

if  his  raptors— but  they 
mall  degree  of  interest, 
-lister!"  exclaimed  Paul- 
that.  We've  got  sisters 
:  she  sister  or  sweetheart, 
h  she  is,  we  don't  confis- 

d  mean  man  that  'd  take 

diile  his  face  lighted  up. 
ts  smile  on  you  for  this!" 
was  a  touch  of  softness  in 
captors,  that  they  had  not 
alutely  went  on  with  their 

it  last  they  came   to  his 
;  stump,  we  must  pull  off 

have  believed  me  at  first. 
:  me.     There  is  no  money 
money  there?" 
jplied  Paulding.     "While 
r  ourselves." 

Van  Wart  piit  his  hands 

could  feel  nothing.     "I 

loots  like  those,"  said  he 

:m,  Van?"  cried  P. ulJir^. 
our  hands,  or  give  themte 
em  on?" 

their  huge  cowhide  shoes, 
ts  were  so  small  that  they 


absolutely  were  not  worth  stealing  ;  though  a  good  pair  of 
boots  was  a  very  precious  article  among  the  country  people 
of  that  day. 

"  Try  his  stockings,"  said  Williams. 

Paulding  knelt  down  and  pa.ssed  his  hand  across  his 

feet. 

"By  the  Lord,  here  it  is!"  exclaimed  he,  feelmg  a 
package  under  the  sole  of  one  of  Andre's  feet. 

"I  knew  we'd  find  it!"  cried  Van  Wart,  excitedly. 
"  Bank  of  England  notes,  I'll  bet !" 

"  My  boys,"  said  Andre,  while  his  face  blanched,  "you 
are  mistaken.  That  is  not  money.  It  is  simply  some 
private  correspondence  of  mine." 

"  Oh,  get  out  !"  cried  Williams,  feeling  under  the  other 
foot.  "Here's  some  more,  boys.  I'll  warrant  this 'II 
pay  better  than  even  those  cattle  dealers  we  were  watching 

for." 

Andr6  knew  it  was  useless  to  say  more. 

Paulding  soon  had  the  papers  in  his  hand.  "  No  money, 
after  all !"  said  he  blankly. 

"  No  money  !"  repeated  the  others  disconsolately. 

"  I  told  you  so,  my  boys,"  said  Andr6.  "  You  will 
oblige  me  by  handing  those  papers  back  to  me." 

Paulding  was  engaged  however  in  slowly  spelling  out 
to  himself  the  contents  of  one  of  the  papers. 

"This  seems  to  be  all  about  West  Point,"  said  he,  evi- 
dently puzzled.  "  Fort  Putnam— stone— wan-ting  great 
re-pairs- wall  on  east  side  broke  down  !    Good  God,  boys, 

he's  a  spy!" 

"A  spy  !"  cried  both  the  others  excitedly — and  gazing 
on  Andrd  as  if  they  expected  to  see  something  very  un- 
usual manifest  itself  in  his  appearance. 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Andr6,  putting  on  a  brave 
face,  though  he  felt  in  all  its  awful  intensity,  the  peril  of 


340 


PEMnERTON 


1  ;vf 

■(   ■ 


his  situation.  "I  told  you  that  I  was  on  ine  pubhc  busi- 
ness, under  General  Arnold's  orders.  You  said  1  was  not 
-and  that  1  had  lots  of  money  for  speculating  with.  You 
wished  to  search  me,  and  agreed  if  you  did  not  fmd  the 
money,  to  let  mc  go  without  further  trouule.  It  has  all 
come  out  just  as  I  said.     Now  I  ask  you  to  do  as  you 

^'""ws,"  said  Paulding,  "  and  so  we  would,  if  we  hadn't 
found  those  papers."  ^^ 

«'  What  difference  does  that  make? 

"  See  here,  Mister-we're  poor  men.     We  live  here  on 
this  Neutral  Ground.     There's  no  use  working-our  crops 
are  all  trodden  down  or  stolen.     Everything  we  had  to 
live  on,  has  been  taken  from  us.     We  must  live.     It  s  no 
great  harm  to  pluck  a  Tory,  'specially  if  he  s  just  been 
Taking  cattle  down  to  New  York.     The  law  says  we  may 
confiscate  the  cattle  if  we  can  catch  them   and  we  d  just 
as  lieve  confiscate  the  hard  money  after  the  cattle  s  sold 
But.  you  see.  we  are  good,  true  Whigs  with  it  all-and  if 
you  are  a  spy.  and  it  looks  confo.-kdly  like  it.  we  re  no 
going  to  let  you  get  off  to  New  '     rk  with  all  that  about 
West  Point  in  your  stockings."  .   ,  ,r 

«' No— that's   a  horse  of  an.    .cr  color,     cned  Van 

Wart 

"And  adurned  black  color  at  that!"  exclaimed  Wil- 

'""^  And  so  you  are  such  good  Whigs,  that  though  I  show 
you  the  pass  of  your  own  General,  ordering  you  to  let  me 
go  on  to  White  Plains,  because  I  am  on  public  business  by 
his  direction,  you  choose  to  think  you  know  better  than 
he  does,  and  interfere  with  his  wise  plans." 

"  Let's  see  that  pass  again,"  said  Paulding. 

Andr6  had  resumed  his  attire,  and  now  took  the  pass 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  him. 


OR,    ONE    nUNDKEU    YKARS   ACID. 


341 


I  was  on  Uie  public  busi- 
dcrs.  You  said  1  was  not 
for  speculating  with.  You 
1  if  you  did  not  find  the 
rther  trouble.  It  has  all 
V  1  ask  you  to  do  as  you 

so  we  would,  if  we  hadn't 

Tiake?" 

or  men.  We  live  here  on 
no  use  working— our  crops 
1.  Everything  we  had  to 
.  We  must  live.  It's  no 
specially  if  he's  just  been 
k.  The  law  says  we  may 
catch  them,  and  we'd  just 
ney  after  the  cattle's  sold. 

Whigs  with  it  all— and  if 
foi'-'edly  like  it,  we're  not 

■     rkwith  all  that  about 

n^    xr  color,"  cried  Van 

•  at  that  1"  exclaimed  Wil- 

Whigs,  that  though  I  show 
ral,  ordering  you  to  let  me 
I  am  on  public  business  by 
hink  you  know  better  than 
wise  plans." 
said  Paulding, 
re,  and  now  took  the  pass 
,  handed  it  to  him. 


After  spelling  at  it  for  awhile,  Paulding  said— "This 
pass  says,  '  Permit  Mr.  John  Anderson  to  pass.'  How  do 
we  know  you're  Mr.  Andcijon?"   . 

"  Because  I  have  the  pass." 

"  You  said  at  first  you  were  a  British  officer." 

'<I  thought  you  were  Cow-boys  then — that  red  coat 
misled  me." 

"  Blast  the  coat.  But  when»I  was  a  prisoner  the  other 
day  down  in  New  York,  I  made  the  exchange  in  order  to 
get  off.  It's  the  second  time  I've  been  in  that  stinking, 
lousy  jail  of  theirs.  They  can  put  me  in,  but  they  can't 
keep  me  in — curse  them  !" 

"  Yes,  and  when  he  said  he  was  an  officer,  he  seemed 
in  good,  hearty  earnest  too,"  said  Williams  to  Paulding. 

•'  Well,  sir,"  continued  Paulding,  "  I'm  sorry  if  you're 
one  of  General  Arnold's  men— but  you'll  have  to  go  with 
us  to  Colonel  Jameson  at  North  Castle.  If  he  says  you're 
all  right,  it  won't  delay  you  very  long;  and  if  he  says 
you're  a  spy,  why  you'll  have  to  hang,  that's  all.  And  I 
should  be  confoundedly  sorry  for  the  last,  even  if  you're 
not  a  very  old  acquaintance." 

"  But  my  business  is  of  such  an  important  character, 
that  it  will  not  admit  of  even  a  couple  of  hours'  longer 
delay,"  said  Andr6  earnestly.  "  You  have  already  seri- 
ously incommoded  me." 

"  Can't  help  it !"  replied  Paulding  resolutely  j  "  you've 
got  to  go.     So  get  on  your  horse." 

"  What  will  you  take  to  let  me  alone,  and  molest  me  no 
further?  I  had  better  pay  you  something,  than  allow  the 
public  business  to  suffer." 

"  What  will  you  give?"  asked  Van  Wart. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  guineas." 

"  We  won't  do  it,"  said  Williams. 

•'I'll  give  you  five  hundred  guineas." 
29* 


t 


342 


PFMBF-RTON  ; 


•'How  can  you?    You  say  you  have  no  money." 
"You  can  accompany  me  to  King's  Bridge,  and  I  will 
stay  there  with  you  until  I  can  senil  into  the  city  for  the 

money." 

"Yes/'  said  Van  Wart,  "and  do  as  that  other  officer 
did  the  other  day.  He  paid  the  money,  and  then  had  the 
fcllars  sent  to  the  Sugar  House  Jail  and  Hogged.  This 
wasgiving  them  adevilish  sight  more  than  they'd  bargained 

for." 

«'  It  will  not  do,"  cried  Paulding  sternly.     "  You  must 

go  to  North  Castle." 

"  1  will  give  you  a  thousand  golden  guineas,"  cried 
Andre,  despairingly,  "  and  pledge  you  my  honor  as  a  gen- 
tleman, that  you  shall  leave  King's  Bridge  unharmed  and 
unmolested." 

They  were  poor  men,  and  the  sum  seemed  an  immense 
one  in  their  eyes.  They  hesitated ;  it  was  evident  the 
temptation  was  a  very  strong  one. 

"  No  !"  at  length  exclaimed  Paulding  fiercely.  "  Not 
if  you  would  make  it  ten  thousand  1  I  tell  you,  my  boys, 
we've  struck  something  mighty  important,  to  be  worth 
such  a  big  price.  I  don't  understand  it,"  turning  to  Ad- 
dri,  "  but  I'm  more  determined  now  than  ever  to  take  you 
in. '  D_n  it,  I'd  shoot  my  best  friend,  if  he  stood  in  the 
way!     Am  I  not  right,  boys?"  • 

"  It's  a  big  sum  of  money— but  we're  true  Whigs,  and 
he  must  go  in,"  replied  Williams. 

"  And  I  say  so  too,"  said  Van  Wart.  "  Though  if  I 
thought  he  was  a  mere  common  spy,  and  't  would  do  no 
harm  to  the  cause,  I'd  go  for  taking  the  money.  I  bleeve 
he'd  pay  it." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Paulding.  "  But  suppose  West  Pomt 
should  be  taken,  and  this  gentleman  be  the  man  that  had 
done  it,  how  would  we  feel?" 


i 


t 


OR,   ONE   MUNPKFn   YF.AKS  A(;0. 


343 


have  no  money." 
ing's  Bridge,  and  I  will 
:nd  into  the  city  for  the 

do  as  that  other  offiier 

noney,  and  then  had  the 

Jail  and  flogged.     This 

»re  than  they'd  bargained 

ng  sternly.     "You  must 

golden  guineas,"  cried 
;e  you  my  honor  as  a  gen- 
u's Bridge  unharmed  and 

sum  seemed  an  immense 
ited ;  it  was  evident  the 

Paulding  fiercely.  "  Not 
id  1  I  tell  you,  my  boys, 
important,  to  be  worth 
stand  it,"  turning  to  Ad- 
now  than  ever  to  take  you 
friend,  if  he  stood  in  the 

lut  we're  true  Whigs,  and 

IS. 

an  Wart.  "Though  if  I 
1  spy,  and  't  would  do  no 
Icing  the  money.     I  bleeve 

"  But  suppose  West  Point 
eman  be  the  man  that  had 


"  Durned  cheap  I"  said  Van  Wart. 
"Come,  sir  1"  said  Paulding  to  .\udr6,  in  astern  voire. 
"  We  have  made  up  our  minds.  Mount  your  horse.  It'll 
only  take  *  couple  of  hours  or  so  to  get  to  North  Castle. 
Then  if  you  are  not  a  spy,  you  can  explain  matters  to 
Colonel  Jameson,  who  is  a  true  gentleman,  and  he  will  let 
you  off,  and  you  won't  have  to  pay  a  sixpence  either,  be- 
•.ides  getting  your  purse  and  wuK  hes  back  again." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  or  done.  Andr6 
mounted  his  horse.  Their  party  was  soon  increased  by  the 
arrival  of  three  or  four  others,  who  had  been  off  in  another 
direction.  And  with  one  of  his  captors  grasping  his  bri- 
dle, and  the  others  walking  on  either  side,  he  was  con- 
ducted along  the  roads  and  across  the  fields,  by  the  most 
unfrequented  ways,  to  North  Castle. 

It  was  a  dismal  ride,  for  although  Andr6  did  not  appre- 
hend any  very  serious  results  to  himself,  the  whole  subtly 
planned  scheme  would  evidently  now  be  brought  to  light. 
The  first  thing  to  be  done,  was  to  get  word  of  his  arrest  to 
Arnold,  in  order  that  the  American  General  might  make 
his  escape.  Possibly,  Arnold  might  liberate  him  also. 
Though  that  was  doubtful.  It  all  turned  upon  the  charac- 
ter of  Colonel  Jameson.  If  he  were  naturally  unsuspicious, 
the  avalanche  might  be  held  back,  until  both  Arnold  and 
himself  were  out  of  danger. 

But  however  this  might  be,  all  his  bright  anticipations 
of  an  immediate  and  successful  issue  to  the  war,  based 
upon  the  triumph  of  treason,  were  dissipated  forever.  All 
the  glory  of  having  achieved  this  important  and  probably 
decisive  stroke,  had  faded  away  from  his  brow.  In  its 
stead,  rested  upon  his  forehead  the  stigma  of  being  a  spy, 
which,  however  undeserved  he  might  consider  it,  his  dis- 
guise, and  the  valuable  papers  found  in  his  possession, 
naturally  tended  to  fasten  upon  him.    A  sad,  sad  ride  it 


yj4  PEMnEKTON; 

was  to  Andr^.  VVius  it  strange  that  he  thought  at  times  of 
his  tlircc-fold  dream,  so  curiously  fulfilled,  and  of  that 
other  dream,  the  same  as  the  prediction  of  the  Sibyl,  with 
its  awful  ending? 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

nREAKlNO   THE   NEWS. 

He  was  not  born  to  ahamt ; 
Upon  hU  bruw  shame  U  oHhamccl  to  «lt  ,■ 
fur  'lis  a  tlinme  wlvcre  honor  in.iy  he  crowned 
Sole  monari;h  of  the  universal  earth.— .S7/(i*jr/«'ar/. 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  fourth  day  after  the  cap- 
ture of  Andre,  that  a  horseman  rode  up  to  the  door  of  tin' 
Pemberton  mansion  in  Philadelphia.  Both  horse  and  man 
looked  dusty  and  weary,  as  if  from  the  effects  of  a  long 
ride.  Dismounting  and  fastening  the  weary  animal  to  the 
hitching-post,  ti  e  traveller  mounted  the  steps,  and  knocked 
at  the  door.     Very  soon  Foxey  made  his  appearance. 

"  Is  your  master  in,  Foxey  ?" 

"  Bress  my  soul,  Cap'n  Morris,  is  dat  you?  Ob  course 
Mas'  Arth's  in.     Walk  back  to  de  libary,  won't  you  ?" 

Captain  Morris— he  had  been  captain  now  for  some 
time— stepped  hastily  forward  into  the  library,  just  glanc- 
ing into  the  parlors  as  he  passed,  and,  as  he  entered  the 
room,  closed  the  door  after  him. 

"Why,  Phil — glad  to  see  you,"  exclaimed  Pemberton, 
springing  from  his  chair  with  extended  hand.  "  But  what 
makes  you  look  so  solemn?"  continued  he,  noticing  the 
serious  countenance  of  his  friend.  "  The  army  been  de- 
feated?" 


OR,    ONE   HITNORF.I)    VF.ARS   AOO. 


345 


at  he  thought  at  times  of 
ly  fulfilled,  and  of  that 
liction  of  the  Sibyl,  with 


VIII. 

NEWS. 

Diihami: 

icil  to  %\t ; 

m.iy  bti  cruwiieJ 

cjLrlh.—Siais^tarf. 

fourth  day  after  the  cap- 
jde  up  to  the  door  of  thi' 
lia.  Both  horse  and  man 
»m  the  effects  of  a  long 
g  the  weary  animal  to  the 
ed  the  steps,  and  knocked 
iiadc  his  appearance. 

i,  is  dat  you  ?    Ob  course 
le  libary,  won't  you?" 
n  captain  now  for  some 
to  the  library,  just  glanc- 
1,  and,  as  he  entered  the 

,"  exclaimed  Pemberton, 
ended  hand.  "  But  what 
jntinued  he,  noticing  the 
i.     "  The  army  been  de- 


«'  The  army  is  all  right ;  but  I  bring  sad  news,  Arthur. 
Major  Andr<i  is  a  prisoner." 

"Not  wounded,  I  hope." 

"No,  not  in  the  least." 

"  Well,  that  is  not  so  bad.  He  is  out  of  harm's  way— 
where  he  can  neither  hurt  us,  nor  get  hurt  himself.  And 
when  he  obtains  his  parole,  we  shall  have,  I  trust,  the 
pleasure  of  his  society  for  awhile." 

<i  Ah— would  he  were  only  a  prisoner  1"  rejoined  Nforris, 
excitedly.  "  But  Arnold  has  turned  traitor— would  have 
delivered  up  West  Point.  Andri  plotted  the  whole  affair 
^itl,  him— .issumed  a  disguise  to  get  back,  and  was  arrested 
in  liis  disguise  near  Tarrytown." 

"  Arnold  a  traitor  1    It  is  not  possible !"  exclaimed  Pem- 

b'Tton. 

"  Would  to  God  it  were  not  1  But  he  hv.«  fled  t  >  the 
enemy.  The  army  is  furious.  Andr6  was  captured  in  Al  i- 
guise  ;  and  pajx^rs  discovered  on  him  which  divulged  the 
whole  infamous  plot.  He  was  arrested  as  a  spy— he  is  to 
be  tried  as  a  spy— and  if  something  be  not  done,  and  that 
speedily,  he  will  meet  the  death  of  a  spy." 

Pemberton  flung  himself  upon  the  sofa,  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.  It  was  terrible— all  terrible !  Ar- 
nold's treason— Andre's  danger.  For  he  loved  John  An- 
drti  beyond  the  love  of  a  brother. 

"  Merciful  God  !"  at  length  he  said,  "And  how  can  wc 
tell  Helen?" 

The  tears  came  into  Morris's  eyes.  "  That  has  been 
worrying  me  all  my  long  ride,"  he  said.  "  Arthur,  rather 
than  she  should  suffer  as  she  will,  I  would  cheerfully  die  iH 
Andre's  place." 

"  But  he  must  not  die  I"  exclaimed  Pemberton,  starting 
up.     "  What  were  the  facts— did  he  enter  oar  lines  'a  <\ii 
guise?" 


'^^tmtt 


346 


PEMBERTON  ; 


..  No,  I  learn  not.  He  says  he  entered  our  Imes  m  his 
own  uiiform,  and  unknowingly-he  having  expressly 
Tulated  with  Arnold  that  they  should  meet  outside  But 
Arnold  deceived  him-hemight  have  known  that  a  tnji  or 
could  not  be  trusted-false  to  one,  false  to  all !  Then 
once  inside,  and  unable  to  get  back  the  way  he  ca-e,  at 
Arnold's  request  he  assumed  his  disguise.  He  flings  back 
with  scorn  the  charge  that  he  is  a  spy.  ^^ 

-I  would  believe  John  Andre  against  the  world,  ex- 
claimed Pemberton.  '<  We  must  save  him!  I  will  return 
with  vou  atonce  toTappan."  ,      .      ,        -i 

«  We  will  do  what  we  can,"  replied  Morns  gloomily; 
-but  I  fear  all  our  efforts  will  be  in  vain.  Th^  army,  as 
I  said,  is  furious-from  the  General-in-Chief  down,    fhey    • 

all  demand  a  sacrifice.     You  have  seen  Washington  set  h. 

lips  together;  then  he  looks  stern  and  implacable  as  Neme- 

is      Andrd  has  laid  himself  open  by  his  change  of  dress 

to  'the  charge  of  being  a  spy ;  and  nothing,  I  fear,  can  save 

him!" 

"  Arnold  is  gone ?"  ,      j     a« 

-  Yes,  safe  in  New  York.  If  he  were  in  our  hands,  An- 
drd  could  be  saved.  Of  course  Clinton  will  n.t  deliver 
him  up,  even  to  save  so  great  a  favorite  as  Andr6 

.<  Of  course  not !"  replied  Pemberton.     "  Andr6  him- 
self would  be  the  first  to  spurn  such  a  proposition. 
They  sat  for  awhile  in  silence. 

-  I  suppose  it  might  as  well  be  done  first  as  last,  Phil. 

«'  Yes— but  I  would  tenfold  rather  storm  a  battery,  re- 
plied Morris.     "Where  are  the  ladies?"  ^^ 

"  In  the  parlor,  I  suppose.     Let  us  go  to  them. 

"You  must  do  all  the  talking,  Pemberton.  I  know 
I  shall  break  down,  at  one  look  of  Helen's  face.     Ah  me ! 

They  entered  the  parlor.  The  two  ladies  were  seated 
by  a  table— Helen  reading,  Isabella  sewing. 


roN ; 

he  entered  our  lines  in  his 
^gly_he  having  expressly 
;y  should  meet  outside.  But 
lit  have  known  that  a  traitor 
;o  one,  false  to  all !  Tlien, 
t  back  the  way  he  came,  at 
lis  disguise.  He  flings  back 
is  a  spy." 

dre  against  the  world,"  ex- 
lust  save  him  !     I  will  return 

"  replied  Morris  gloomily; 
^  be  in  vain.  The  army,  as 
sneral-in-Chief  down.  They 
liave  seen  Wa.shington  set  his 
;ern  and  implacable  as  Neme- 
open  by  his  change  of  dress 
and  nothing,  I  fear,  can  save 

If  he  were  in  our  hands,  An- 
urse  Clinton  will  n?t  deliver 
t  a  favorite  as  Andr6." 
i  Pemberton.     "Andr6him- 
rn  such  a  proposition," 

nee. 

11  be  done  first  as  last,  Phil." 
d  rather  storm  a  battery,"  re- 
the  ladies?" 
.     Let  us  go  to  them." 
alking,  Pemberton.      I  know 
,ok  of  Helen's  face.     Ah  me !" 
The  two  ladies  were  seated 
Isabella  sewing. 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


347 


His  voice  trembled  a  little,  in 


"  Why,  Captain  Morris  !"  exclaimed  the  latter  as  he  en- 
tered.    "  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  see  you." 
Helen  looked  a  smiling  welcome,  and  extended  her 

hand. 

Morris  shook  hands,  said  a  few  words,  and  then  took  a 

seat  a  little  to  one  side. 
Helen  looked  surprised— his  manner  was  so  different 

from  usual. 

Then  Pemberton  spoke, 
spite  of  him. 

"  Helen,  my  sweet  sister,  that  is  to  be— I  liave  often 
heard  you  say  that  you  belong  to  a  race  that  never  feared 
the  face  of  Death,  on  the  battle  field  or  on  the  scaffold. 
Can  you  meet  as  patiently  and  bravely  the  stern,  sad  face 

of  Sorrow?" 

Before  he  had  half  finished  his  sentence,  the  girl  was 
gazing  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  young  men  with  an 
eager^  questioning  look,  as  if  she  would  read  their  very 
souls.  Then,  as  Pemberton  paused,  she  exclaimed  pas. 
sionately : — 
"  What  is  it  ?  Who  is  it  ?  Is  Colonel  Musgrave— " 
"I  have  heard  no  bad  news  of  the  Colonel,"  replied 
Pemberton.     "  Calm  yourself,  my  dear  Helen— be  calm,  I 

implore  you!" 

"Is  he  dead?"   moaned  Helen,  in  a  low,  quivering 

voice. 

"  He  is  not— but  he  is  a  prisoner." 

"And  wounded?" 

"  No,  he  is  not  wounded  !" 

She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  But  why  do  you  look  so  solemn?  To  be  a  prisoner 
and  unhurt  is  not  so  sad.  He  was  a  prisoner  before.  Tell 
me,  Philip— you  tell  me.     Quickly!     Quickly!" 

Poor  Morris  brushed  the  tears  from  his  eyes  with  his 


348 


PEMBF.RTON ; 


The  latter  nodded,  as 


hand.     He  looked  at  Pcmberton. 
if  it  were  better  told  at  once  now. 

"Major  Andr6  is  accused  of  being  a  spy,"  faltered 
Morris. 

"  I  deny  it !  It  is  a  foul  calumny  !  He  is  no  spy  !" 
cried  Helen  impetuously— her  mood  changing  into  one  of 
intense  indignation.     "  What  does  he  say  ?" 

"  He  also  denies  it." 

"  I  knew  so !  I  knew  so  !  Whai  do  they  mean  by  mak- 
ing  so  false  a  charge,  Arthur?" 

"  When  he  was  arrested  he  was  in  disguise.  He  admits 
that  he  assumed  his  disguise  within  our  lines.  He  had 
planned  the  surrender  of  West  Point  with  General  Arnold. 
Arnold  has  escaped  to  New  York ;  but  Andr6  was  taken, 
with  the  fatal  papers  upon  him.  The  jrmy  is  greatly  in- 
censed.    His  position  is  very  perilous  indeed." 

"  With  Arnold  !"  faltered  Helen.  She  well  understood 
now  the  whole  affair.  She  herself  had  aided  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  perilous  game,  which  threatened  to  prove  so 
disastrous  at  its  close.     She  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand 

and  wept  bitterly. 

"  We  shall  do  all  we  can  to  save  him,  ivliss  Helen.  Do 
not  give  up  hope,"  said  Morris,  taking  a  seat  near  her. 

"  You  are  very  good,  Philip.     I  know  yo-i  will." 

"When  do  you  start  for  the  army,  Arthur?"  said  Isa- 
bella, who  had  been  so  far  a  silent  but  attentive  and  sym- 
pathizing listener.  "  Of  course  Helen  and  I  will  go  with 
you." 

"To-morrow  morning.  There  is  no  time  for  delay.  You 
can  endure  a  two  or  three  days'  ride  on  horseback?" 

"  I  think  so ;  if  Mrs.  Stephens  could  come  all  the  way 
from  Boston  with  her  infant  in  her  arm(j." 

"We  will  all  go  together  then." 

"  Helen  and  I  will  retire,  if  you  will  excuse  us,  gentle- 


i 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


349 


The  latter  nodded,  as 

being  a  spy,"  faltered 

mny  !  He  is  nospy  !" 
)d  changing  into  one  of 
i  he  say?" 

II  do  they  mean  by  mak- 

in  disguise.  He  admits 
lin  our  lines.  He  had 
nt  with  General  Arnold. 
;  but  Andr6  was  taken. 
The  -jrmy  is  greatly  in- 
lous  indeed." 
n.  She  well  understood 
f  had  aided  in  the  begin- 
threatened  to  prove  so 
I  her  head  upon  her  hand 

e  him,  ivliss  Helen.     Do 
aking  a  seat  near  her. 
I  know  yo'i  will." 
irmy,  Arthur?"  said  Isa- 
it  but  attentive  and  sym- 
Helen  and  I  will  go  with 

is  no  time  for  delay.    You 

ride  on  horseback?" 

s  could  come  all  the  way 

er  arm(j." 
II 

ou  will  excuse  us,  gentle- 


men, to  make  our  arrangements.  We  shall  be  ready  at 
any  hour  you  fix.  Good  evening,  Captain ;  I  suppose  yon 
will  return  with  us?" 

"  I  design  doing  so.  Good-night,  Miss  Graham ;  good- 
night, Miss  Helen." 

"  Good-night,  Philip,"  said  Helen,  stopping  before  him 
for  a  moment.  "  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness  in 
this  dark  hour." 

'*Phil,  we  must  save  him!"  said  Pemberton  earnestly, 
after  the  ladies  had  left  the  room. 

"  I  will  do  all  I  can,  as  you  know,  Arthur ;  but  I  have 
not  the  least  hope.  I  have  heard  the  army  talk.  Every 
man,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  says,  '  Death  I'  " 

"  How  is  he  guarded  ?" 

"There  is  no  hope  there.  Two  of  our  best  officers  are 
constantly  with  him,  day  and  night ;  and  six  sentries  guard 
the  passage  and  the  doors.  Besides,  there  will  be,  I  fear, 
no  time  to  do  anything.  Not  more  than  three  or  four 
days." 

"  What,  so  soon  ?    Is  this  great  haste  not  unusual  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  case  of  spies,  you  know.  They  are  often 
executed  on  the  spot.  And  the  officers  consider  this  a 
painful  duty,  and  one  that  the  longer  it  is  put  off,  becomes 
the  more  painful." 

"Then,  indeed,  we  must  be  moving,"  said  Pemberton. 
'I  shall  see  Washington  at  once.  And  then  Andr6. 
Whatever  may  be  the  result,  I  shall  stand  by  him  to  the 
last.  Oh,  Phil,  John  Andr6,  Englishman  as  he  is,  is  the 
very  noblest,  sweetest  man  I  ever  knew.  I  shall  not  easily 
get  over  it,  if  they  harm  him." 

"He  is  a  grand  fellow,  no  doubt.     Anr'  I  would  risk 
my  life  to  save  him,"  replied  Morris.     "But,  ah,  Pem- 
berton, it  is  mainly  because  I  love  Helen  Graham.    Is 
it  not  true  love,  Arthur,  which  serves  the  object  of  its 
30 


*'f**«.. 


*  *fe«  ^ 


35° 


PEMBERTON  ; 


affection,  even  by  serving,  if  necessary,  a  successful  rival  ? 
But  for  me  there  is  no  other  woman  in  the  wide  world.  1 
told  you  that  tw6  years  ago,  and  I  say  the  same  thing 

now."  .  ,     f 

"  You  are  a  noble  fellow,  Phil— and  only  too  much  of 
a  true  and  devoted  lover.  But  I  must  see  that  your  horse 
has  been  stabled,  and  order  Aunt  Dinah  to  get  some 
supper  for  you.  You  will,  of  course,  stay  with  us  to-night. 
For  we  must  be  uu"  bright  and  early  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER  IX.  . 

PEMBERTON   AND   WASHINGTON. 
I  know  my  duty.    Though  it  makes  me  weep 
Hot  tears  of  blood,  that  duty  will  1  do. 
Down,  foolish  heart  I  this  is  no  place  for  thee. 

It  took  three  days  of  hard  riding,  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  it  over  mountain  roads,  before  our  party  reached 
the  vicinity  of  the  American  (ftmp  at  Tappan.     Captain 
Morris  obtained  lodgings  for  them  at  a  comfortable  farm- 
house  a  couple  of  miles  from  the  camp,  where  the  ladies 
were  received  with  great  kindness  by  an  honest  Dutch 
farmer  named  Jansen,  and  his  substantial  wife.  The  ladies 
were  greatly  exhausted,  not  so  much  by  the  ride  itself  as 
by  the  excitement  of  their  emotions.     Sorrow  which  is 
without  hope,  is  very  hard  to  bear.     And  neither  Pem- 
berton  nor  Morris  felt  at  liberty  to  encourage  any  hopeful 
anticipations.     In  truth,  they  did  not  feel  absolutely  cer- 
tain that  they  should  find  Andrfe  alive.     And  the  true 
state  of  their  feelings,  although  not  expressed  in  words, 
insensibly  communicated  itself  to  their  sensitive  compan- 


jssary,  a  successful  rival  ? 
lan  in  the  wide  world.  I 
id  I  say  the  same  thing 

—and  only  too  much  of 
:  must  see  that  your  horse 
Lunt  Dinah  to  get  some 
arse,  stay  with  us  to-night. 
;arly  to-morrow. 


L  IX. 

VASHINGTON. 

I  it  makes  me  weep 

ity  will  1  do. 

is  no  place  for  thee. 

iding,  a  considerable  por- 
,  before  our  party  reached 
&mp  at  Tappan.     Captain 
lem  at  a  comfortable  farm- 
he  camp,  where  the  ladies 
Iness  by  an  honest  Dutch 
iubstantial  wife.  The  ladies 
much  by  the  ride  itself  as 
motions.     Sorrow  which  is 
)  bear.     And  neither  Pem- 
y  to  encourage  any  hopeful 
did  not  feel  absolutely  cer- 
ndrfe  alive.     And  the  true 
[h  not  expressed  in  words, 
■  to  their  sensitive  compan- 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS   AGO.  3S* 

ions.  So  that  Helen,  notwithstanding  her  undeniable 
courage  and  high  spirit,  seemed  almost  as  much  dead  as 
alive,  when,  near  the  close  of  a  pleasant  Saturday  after- 
noon, Morris  assisted  her  from  her  horse,  and  into  the 
sitting-room  of  the  farm  house. 

All  Pemberton  could  learn  from  the  farmer  was  that  a 
Court  of  Officers  had  been  sitting  the  previous  day,  to  try 
\ndr6  ;  but  what  the  verdict  was,  Mr.  Jansen  did  not  cer- 
tainly know,  though  he  had  heard  it  was  "  guilty.'  The 
first  part  of  this  information  Pemberton  thought  best  to 
communicate  at  once  to  the  sisters.  And  then  he  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  riding  over  to  Tappan,  to  hear 
what  the  verdict  .really  was,  and,  if  necessary,  to  see  the 
Commander-in-Chief,  as  also  to  procure  a  permit  for  all  of 

them  to  visit  Andr6. 

Helen  beckoned  him  to  her,  as  he  was  about  following 
Morris  from  the  room.  "  You  will  see  .lim,  I  know,  before 
you  return,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Tell  him  from 
me  that  I  never  loved  him  more  than  now-never  1  1  hat 
I  know  he  has  acted  in  all  things  like  a  noble  man  and 
true  gentleman.  That  I  believe  in  him  fully.  And  that, 
were  it  well  to  do  so,  I  should  glory  in  sharing  his  prison 
with  him.  Tell  him  this— and  as  much  more  as  you  can 
find  words  to  express.  Tell  him  I  am  his  always-utterly ; 
for  this  world,  and  forever!" 

She  sank  back  on  the  farmer's  rude  lounge,  overcome 
with  the  violence  of  her  emotions.  ,   a  .u^  «n 

Before  Pemberton  and  Captain  Morns  reached  the  vil- 
lage of  Tappan,  they  met  an  officer,  an  acquamtance  of 
the  latter,  who  informed  them  briefly  of  the  true  position 
of  affairs.  TheCourthad  been  held-composed  of  all  the 
General  Officers  with  the  exception  of  Wayne  and  Irving. 
No  witnesses  had  been  examined.  Aayir6  had  made  a 
plain,  unvarnished  statement  of  all  that  had  taken  place. 


359  •  PEMBERTON  J 

And,  basing  their  verdict  upon  that  statement,  and  the 
laws  of  war,  he  had  been  unanimously  declared  a  spy,  and 
worthy  of  death.  The  sentence  had  been  approved  that 
very  day — and  the  next  day,  Sunday,  October  1st,  at  5 
P.  M.,  been  appointed  for  the  execution. 

Pemberton's  cheek  blanched,  and  his  heart  sank  within 
him.     "So  soon  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  replied  the  officer  gloomily. 
' "  It  musf  be  done ;  and  yet  we  are  all  learning  to  love  the 
prisoner.     The  longer  we  leave  it,  the  harder  our  duty 
grows. ' ' 

"  There  is  no  hope  then  but  in  Washington  !"  exclaimed 
Pemberton  bitterly ;  "  when  a  man's  very  virtues  are  made 
a  reason  for  hastening  his  fate." 

"Shall  I  go  in  with  you?"  asked  Morris,  when  they 
reached  the  stone  farm-house  where  Washington  had  his 
headquarters. 

"There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  replied  Pemberton.  "I 
will  see  the  General  alone,  if  you"  will  see  the  principal 
officers,  and  try  to  get  a  paper  signed  by  some  of  them, 
asking  for  a  reversal  of  the  sentence,  or  at  least  a 
respite." 

"  I  will  do  all  I  can,  but  do  not  be  surprised  if  I  get  no 
signers,"  rejoined  Morris,  as  he  left  him.  "I  will  meet 
you  at  your  quarters  this  evening." 

Having  dismounted,  and  sent  in  his  name,  Pemberton 
was  invited  to  enter  the  little  room  used  by  Washington  as 
his  reception  chamber.  The  Chief  was  alone,  and  rising, 
cordially  welcomed  his  visitor,  inquiring  almost  immedi- 
ately as  to  the  health  of  the  Misses  Graham. 

"  They  are  not  very  well,  though  very  near  here  now," 
replied  Pemberton.  Then,  noticing  the  surprise  expressed 
in  the  fare  of  his  listener,  he  added,  "  General,  probably 
you  do  not  know  that  Miss  Helen  Graham  is  betrothed  to 


«.. 


I  that  statement,  and  the 
nously  declared  a  spy,  and 
e  had  been  approved  that 
Sunday,  October  ist,  at  5 
jxccution. 

and  his  heart  sank  within 
ed. 

iplied  the  officer  gloomily, 
are  all  learning  to  love  the 
re  it,  the  harder  our  duty 

1  Washington  !"  exclaimed 
nan's  very  virtues  are  made 

'  asked  Morris,  when  they 
vhere  Washington  had  his 

replied  Pemberton.  "  I 
you"  will  see  the  principal 

signed  by  some  of  them, 
I  sentence,   or  at  least   a 

not  be  surprised  if  I  get  no 
le  left  him.     "  I  will  meet 

'g." 

nt  in  his  name,  Pemberton 
3om  used  by  Washington  as 
-hief  was  alone,  and  rising, 
inquiring  almost  immedi- 
sses  Graham. 

ough  very  near  here  now," 
:icing  the  surprise  expressed 
dded,  "  General,  probably 
len  Graham  is  betrothed  to 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED    YEARS 'AGO. 


353 


Major  Andr6.     It  is  a  secret  from  the  world,  but  I  may 

trubt  it  to  your  ear." 
A  change  passed  over  Washington's  face.     "  God  pity 

her !"  said  he,  with  deep  emotion.  _ 

"  Yes ;  if  your  Excellency  will  not  take  pity  upon  her, 
replied  Pemberton. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  said  Washington,  in  a  sad  but  reso- 
lute voice.  '•  He  has  been  tried  by  the  highest  Court  J 
could  summon.  My  Generals  say  unanimously  that  he  is 
.uilty  of  being  a  spy,  and  must  suffer  death.  They  speak 
the  voice  of  the  whole  army,  the  whole  country.  How 
could  I  set  their  decision  at  naught,  even  if  I  would?  I 
have  hod  to  tell  Colonel  Hamilton  this,  over  and  over. 
He  does  not  dispute  it,  but  still  pleads  for  mercy.  Mercy 
that  I  have  neither  the  power  nor  the  right  to  grant. 

Pemberton  had  been  told  that  Washington  was  a  cold, 
stern  man-had  himself  partly  believed  it.  He  acknow- 
ledged to  himself  now  how  false  the  charge  was;  for  the 
man  before  him  was  evidently  full  of  emotion;  his  face 
glowing,  his  voice,  though  low  and  even,  impassioned. 
But  Pemberton  had  determined  beforehand  to  save  his 
friend  if  he  possibly  could,  and  to  admit  nothing,  however 
reasonable,  that  told  against  him.  For  once  he  was  deter- 
mined to  be  fanatical  and  one-sided  in  his  reasoning  and 

his  purpose.  . 

"  If  your  Excellency  will  pardon  me,"  said  Pemoerton, 
"it  seems  to  me,  and  to  Miss  Graham,  that  everything 
depends  on  your  decision.  Whatever  your  officers  may 
say,  the  ultimate  decision  must  rest  with  you.  If  you  say 
live,  the  army  will  approve,  and  recognize  in  your  voice 
that  sentiment  of  Mercy  which  is  so  natural  to  you. 

"And  is  nothing  then  to  be  done,  sir,  to  satisfy  our 
outraged  sense  of  Justice?"  replied  Washington.    ''Justice 
has  its  claims  as  well  as  Mercy.    Is  Treason-the  most 
30* 


•«.> 


354 


PEMBEklON  ; 


infamous  Treason— to  be  plotted  in  our  midst,  and  "those 
engaged  in  it  to  go  unpunished,  ab  if  it  were  merely 
some  little  peccadillo  of  which  they  hud  been  guilty?" 
As  he  si)oke  thus,  Washington's  fac  e  assumed  that  cold 
and  somewhat  severe  expression  which  usually  sat  upon  it 
in  moments  of  trial  and  danger. 

"  I  am  not  able  to  perceive,"  rejoined  Pemberton 
warmly,  "  that  Major  Andre  has  done  anything  more  than 
I  would  have  done  in  Philadeli)hia,  had  Sir  William  Howe, 
or  any  of  his  officers,  proposed  to  play  a  similar  game  with 
the  British,  that  Arnold  has  played  with  us.  And  I  think 
your  Excellency's  sense  of  justice  will  pardon  me  for 
adding,  that  if  I  had  done  so,  your  Excellency  would 
have  applauded  instead  of  rebuking  my  conduct." 

"  I  do  not  deny  it,  Mr.  Pemberton.  But  you  will  re- 
member that  I  told  you  expressly,  that,  while  I  regarded 
your  services  in  Philadelphia  as  of  the  highest  value  to  the 
Country  and  the  Cause — " 

"  'And  such  as  a  high-minded  gentleman  might  per- 
form ;*  pardon  me  for  interrupting  your  Excellency." 

"And  such  as  a  high-minded  gentleman  might  perform," 
replied  Washington,  emphatically,  "still  that  if  you  were 
discovered,  it  might  be  impossible  for  me  to  save  you.  It 
is  often  not  only  blameless,  but  noble  to  act  the  spy ;  I 
trust  I  would,  if  there  were  sufficient  reason,  imitate  King 
Alfred,  and,  to  save  my  country,  penetrate  the  camp  of 
the  invader  myself;  but  not  the  less  does  the  rule  of  war 
say,  Death  to  all  spies  1     Major  Andr6  has  come  within 

the  rule." 

"  Begging  your  Excellency's  pardon,  I  do  not  think  so. 
I  have  learned  from  Captain  Morris  that  he  assumed  his 
disguise  under  General  Arnold's  orders,  after  he  had  been 
brought  into  our  lines  against  his  request." 

« «  He  who  deals  with  a  Traitor,  must  beware  of  Treason. 


OR,    ONE    HUNDRKD   YEARS   ACO. 


3S5 


1  in  our  midst,  and  "those 
id,  Ob  if  it  were  merely 
I  they  had  been  guilty?" 
s  fa(  e  assumed  that  cold 
which  usually  sat  upon  it 

'e,"  rejoined  Pemberton 
done  anything  more  than 
ia,  had  Sir  William  Howe, 
o  play  a  similar  game  with 
red  with  us.  And  I  think 
itice  will  pardon  me  for 
,  your  Excellency  would 
ing  my  conduct." 
bcrton.  But  you  will  re- 
ly, that,  while  I  regarded 
of  the  highest  value  to  the 

led  gentleman  might  per- 
ng  your  Excellency." 
;entleman  might  perform," 
Uy,  "  still  that  if  you  were 
ble  for  me  to  save  you.  It 
noble  to  act  the  spy ;  I 
cient  reason,  imitate  King 
ry,  penetrate  the  camp  of 
e  less  does  the  rule  of  war 
or  Andr6  has  come  within 

pardon,  I  do  not  think  so. 
[orris  that  he  assumed  his 
s  orders,  after  he  had  been 
lis  request." 
ar,  must  beware  of  Treason. 


The  old  proverb  says,  '  Who  sups  with  the  Devil  should 
have  a  long  spoon."  Andre  took  the  risk,  and  has  lost. 
He  must  pay  the  penalty— unless— " 

"Unless  what?"  asked  I'cmbcrton,  s-cing  that  the 
General  hesitated. 

A  gloom  as  of  night  gathered  over  Wi^hmgtons  face. 
He  rcjse  from  his  seat.  It  was  evident  to  Pemberton  that 
he  was  about  to  witness  one  of  those  trem  :ndous  bursts  of 
indignation  of  which  he  had  been  told-..nd  which  were 
more  startling  on  account  of  their  infreci  lency.  It  was 
almost  a  relief  when  it  came— the  clenched  and  menac- 
ing right  hand  and  ext-uded  arm  giving  force  to  the 

words — 

«'  Unless  we  can  catch  that  infamous  Traitor,  that  lymg 
and  perjured  wretch,  Benedict  Arnold— and  hang  him  as 
high  as  Haman,  in  Andre's  place.  If  I  can  once  lay  hold 
of  him"— letting  his  massive  hand  fall  upon  Pemberton's 
shoulder,  and  giving  it  involuntarily  a  grasp  that  left  the 
marks  of  his  fingers  in  black  and  blue  for  days  afterwards 
— "  I'll  make  him  an  example  to  devils  and  to  men  !" 

"I  devoutly  trust  we  may  take  him,"  said  Pemberton, 
after  a  pause,  in  which  the  General  had  resumed  his  seat. 
"  He  is  a  Traitor,  and  richly  deserves  death.  But  Andr6 
is  an  honorable,  high-toned  man.  It  will  not  punish  Ar- 
nold to  injure  him." 

"  Whom  now  can  I  trust  ?  Whom  now  can  I  trust  ? 
mournfully  exclaimed  Washington,  dejection  mingling 
with  his  indignation.  "  Do  you  not  see,  sir,  that  this 
treason  of  Arnold's,  throws  suspicion  upon  everybody?  I 
appointed  Arnold— the  perjured  wretch— to  the  command 
of  West  Point— and  you  know,  Mr.  Pemberton,  bemg  be- 
hind the  scenes,  what  some  very  influential  people  in  your 
good  city  think  and  have  said  of  me.  What  will  they 
say  now?" 


3S6 


PEMBERTON } 


'♦  I  know  it  well ;  but  I  also  know  that  your  Excellency 
has  never  stooped  to  play  at  their  intriguing  game ;  and 
that  you  have  met  secret  malice  with  open  and  honest  ar- 
gument and  wise  and  merciful  action." 

"  I  care  not  for  myself,"  continued  Washington  ;  "  but 
they  wound  the  great  Cause  through  me.  I  and  my  offi- 
cers must  not  only  be  guiltless,  we  must  be  unsuspected. 
Add  the  suspicion  of  Treason  to  the  other  influences  whi(  h 
are  now  engendering  strife  and  disunion  among  us,  and 
the  country  is  lost.  I  should  like  to  oblige  you,  Mr.  Pem- 
berton,  but  the  welfare  of  the  Cause  will  not  allow  it. 
This  great  Crime  will  have  its  Victim.  Missing  Arnold, 
it  clutches  Andre.  I  fully  appreciate  and  sympathize  with 
your  devotion  to  your  friend,  but  it  is  needless  to  prolong 
this  conversation.     My  resolution  is  unalterable." 

"And  this,  then,  is  the  answer  I  am  to  take  to  Helen 
Graham,"  exclaimed  Pemberton  bitterly.  "  Pray  God  it 
does  not  kill  her  too.  She  will  insist,  I  know,  upon  see- 
ing your  Excellency  herself,  and  begging  for  Mercy  upon 
her  knees.     What  shall  I  tell  her?" 

A  groan  burst  from  Washington's  breast.  "I  cannot, 
cannot  see  her  !  I  am  but  a  man,  Mr.  Pemberton,  a  weak 
man,  simply  trying  my  best  to  do  what  is  right.  Why 
should  I  be  exposed  to  such  a  weight  of  agony  ?  My  an- 
swer must  still  be  the  same.  I  beg  you  spare  me  such  an 
hour  of  torture!" 

"  Your  Excellency  will  at  least  favor  me  with  a  pass  for 
myself  and  my  friends  to  visit  the  prisoner?" 

Washington  sat  down  at  a  table  and  wrote  a  pass.  "  This 
will  admit  you  to-morrow  morning.  It  is  too  late  to- 
night." 

"  I  must  bid  your  Excellency  good  evening,"  said  Pem- 
berton coldly,  taking  the  pass. 

Washington  held  out  his  hand.     "  We  are  still  friends, 


OR,    ONE    m'NDRF.I)    YEARS   AGO. 


357 


V  that  your  Excellency 
intriguing  game;  and 
th  oj'en  and  honest  ar- 
an." 

icd  Washington;  "but 
jh  me.  I  and  my  offi- 
must  be  unsuspected. 
;  other  influences  whi(  h 
isunion  among  us,  and 

0  oblige  you,  Mr.  Pem- 
:ause  will  not  allow  it. 
tim.  Missing  Arnold, 
Lte  and  sympathize  with 
t  is  needless  to  prolong 
is  unalterable." 

1  am  to  take  to  Helen 
itterly.  "  Pray  God  it 
isist,  I  know,  upon  see- 
egging  for  Mercy  upon 

n 

I's  breast.  "I  cannot, 
Mr.  Pemberton,  a  weak 
3  what  is  right.  Why 
ght  of  agony?  My  an- 
j  you  spare  me  such  an 

favor  me  with  a  pass  for 

prisoner?" 

md  wrote  a  pass.    "  Th  is 

ing.     It  is  too  late  to- 

)od  evening,"  saidPem- 

"  We  are  still  friends, 


are  we  not?"  said  he,  while  his  face  resumed  that  benevo- 
lent expression  which  was  usual  with  him  when  in  the  j)re- 
sence  of  his  military  family. 

"We  are  still  friends,"  replied  Pemberton,  taking  his 
extended  hand  ;  '•  though  you  have  denied  mercy  to  the 
very  dearest  friend  I  have  on  earth."  And  he  walked 
gloomily  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CRUSHED    IIV    I  HE   BLOW. 

Life  thou  dust  strain  tuu  liard  upon  this  heart. 
It  must  have  rest — ur  bruuk  I 

OuTCinE  the  door,  Pemberton  met  Caj)tain  Morris,  who 
had  ascertained  he  was  still  within,  and  was  awaiting  him 
in  the  twilight. 

"  1  need  not  ask  you  what  success  you  have  had?"  said 
Morris,  with  a  glance  at  his  friend's  sorrowful  face. 

"He  is  as  immovable  as  these  granite  hills,"  replied 
Pemberton.     "  Have  you  had  any  better  success  ?" 

"I  cannot  get  a  single  name;  though  Colonel  Hamil- 
ton says  he  will  sign,  if  I  can  obtain  enough  others  to  give 
the  paper  any  weight.  And  yet  they  all  express  the  utmost 
admiration  and  sympathy  for  Andr6." 

"  Cursed  be  their  admiration  and  their  sympathy,  if 
they  will  not  move  a  hand  to  save  him  !"  exclaimed  Pem- 
berton indignantly.  "What  excuse  have  they  for  their 
cruel  coldness?" 

"  They  all  give  the  same  reason — the  crime  is  so  great 
that  there  must  be  a  victim.  Hamilton  says  the  army 
feels  as  the  Romans  did  when  that  great  gulf  opened  in 


358 


PUMBERTON  5 


the  Forum,  and  the  Avigurn  avcrrc-l  it  would  not  close 
until  scnething  most  prcdous  had  bcc-n  (lung  down  uUo 
it  Arnold's  treason,  he  says,  has  opened  the  ludeous 
culf ;  and  cither  Arnold  or  Andre  must  die,  to  prove  that 
The  Army  is  true  and  faithful,  and  thus  close  the  chasn>  no 
aiiain  The  very  fact  that  Andre-  is  the  valuable  man  he 
is.  and  so  great  a  favorite  with  Clinton,  renders,  in  their 
view,  his  sacrifice  the  more  imperative." 

By  this  time  the  young  men  had  remounted,  and  were 
on  their  way  to  the  farm-house. 

..  What  shall  we  say  to  Helen  1"  said  Pemberton,  m  a 
voice  full  of  emotion. 

Morris  made  no  reply-save  to  wipe  h.s  eyes  with  h.s 

handkerchief.     And  they  rode  on  in  s'>'-'"'^*^- ^ 

As  they  neared  the  house.  Morns  sa.d:  "You  got  a 

permit,  I  supiiose?" 

"Yes  for  to-morrow."  ^,     ,.  , . 

Dismounting  they  fastened  their  horses.     The  hglU  wa. 

shining  out  from  the  already  opened  door,  where  Isabella 

was  standing.  .  ..Cn*>ik 

She  held  up  one  hand  with  a  warning  gesture.        Speak 
low."  she  said,  "  if  you  have  bad  tidings." 

-Is  anything  the  matter  with  Helen  ?' '  asked  Pemberton 
"  I  fear  a  great  deal.  She  was  awaiting  your  return,  all 
excitement  and  eagerness,  about  an  hour  ago.  when  a 
neighboring  farmer  came  along,  and  called  out  to  Mr. 
Jansen  that  '  the  spy  had  been  sentenced  to  be  ^""g  *°- 
morrow  at  five  o'clock.'  Helen  gave  a  great  shnek.  and 
fell  to  the  floor.  Mrs.  Jansen  and  myself  got  her  into  a 
back  room,  and  into  bed)  and  she  has  lain  there  since 
seemingly  unconsciousofall  around  her."     Isabella  spoke 

in  a  whisper,  but  rapidly,  and  with  g'^^;,  ^7°;'°;-^;^" 
quently  turning  her  head  and  listening^  "I  lef  her  for  a 
L  minutes,  hearing  you  coming.     Oh,  merciful  God- 


rrcil  it  would  not  close 
id  bcc-n  flung  down  into 
luw  oi)cncd  the  liidcous 
i  must  die,  to  prove  that 
I  thus  close  the  chasm  uu 
i  is  the  valuable  man  he 
:iinton,  renders,  in  their 
rative. 
lad  remounted,  and  were 

1"  said  Pembcrton,  in  a 

;o  wipe  his  eyes  with  his 

m  in  silence. 

lorris  said:  "You  got  a 


eir  horses.     The  light  was 
lened  door,  where  Isabella 

varning  gesture.     "  Speak 
ad  tidings." 

iclen  ?"  asked  Pemberton. 
IS  awaiting  your  return,  all 
>ut  an  hour  ago,  when  a 
»g,  and  called  out  to  Mr. 
sentenced  to  be  hung  to- 
n  gave  a  great  shriek,  and 
and  myself  got  her  into  a 
1  she  has  lain  there  since, 
ound  her."     Isabella  spoke 
1  with  great  emotion — fre- 
listening.     "  I  left  her  for  a 
ling.     Oh,  merciful  God — 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS   AGO. 


359 


what  makes  you  look  so  sad  ?  Why  don't  you  deny  it  ?— 
It  cannot  be  true  1  Speak,  I  say-or  I  too  shall  go  mad." 
Pemberton  took  a  step  forward,  and  passed  his  arm 
around  the  waist  of  his  betrothed.  "My  pre.  ions  darling !" 
said  he  soothingly.  "  Do  not  fail  your  sister  at  this  avyfu! 
time.  If  you  give  way,  who  shall  comfort  her?"  Wub 
words  like  these,  and  with  gentle  caressings,  he  soin  lo 
soothe  and  sustain  her.  And  it  was  soon  evident  not  with- 
out c(f.-ct.  For  Isabella's  manner,  after  a  great  flood  of 
tears,  became  more  composed,  and  it  was  evident  that  the 
first  force  of  the  dreadful  blow  had  spent  itself.     Then  she 

said,  .    ,, 

"  I  must  now  go  bark,  and  see  how  Helen  is. 
But  as  she  turned  toward  the  door  of  the  room,  it  opened, 
and  a  tall  white  figure  came  in.     It  was  Helen    in  her 
night  dress,  and  with  one  of  the  sheets  of  the  bed  folded 
like  a  shawl  across  her  shoulders,  and  hanging  draped 

around  her. 

-Good  evening,  gentlemen;  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
Where's  the  Major?  Fie,  fie,  to  be  so  late;  and  on  his 
wedding  night,  tool"  .     ,      . 

"  Why,  Helen,"  cried  Isabella,  in  an  agonized  voice, 
springing  to  her,  "do  come  back  to  your  room,  my  dear 
sister."     And  she  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  would  have 

led  her  back. 

"  Isabella,  I  am  surprised  at  you  !  You  forget  yourself, 
to  act  thus  before  our  friends,"  exclaimed  Helen,  draw- 
ing  herself  up  with  great  dignity.  "  Mr.  Pemberton,  you 
must  excuse  her.  Ah,  you  have  come  to  dance  at  my 
wedding,  Philip?  That's  a  good  boy."  Here  she  broke 
out  into  one  of  her  childhood's  songs :  - 

•■ '  The  frog  he  would  a  wooing  go, 

With  a  string  slraiig  molly  mitty  kimo ; 
Whether  his  mother  would  let  him  or  no. 
With  a  string  stranij  molly  mitty  kimo. 


i 


n 


360  PEMBERTON  J 

•  Kimo  nero  gilto  karo, 

Kimo  nero  kimo, 
With  a  string  Strang  a  parawinkle 
Marabone  aringtang, 
Aringtang  a  molly  mitty  kimo.' 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  serious,  gentlemen  ?  Is  it 
such  a  solemn  thing  to  get  married  !"  Here  she  gave  a 
wild  laugh  ;  that  mad  laughter  which  is  so  dreadful  to  hear. 
"But,"  with  a  sudden  change  of  expression,  "perhaps 
you  think  the  bridegroom  will  not  come?  Hark  !"  hold- 
ing up  her  finger.  "Why  doesn't  he  come?  Why  doesn't 
he  come?" — here  her  voice  mounted  almost  to  a  shriek — 
"  ah,  I  know,  I  know,  I  heard  them  say" — here  she  paused 
and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  recollect  something — "oh,  I 
remember — they  said  he  could  not  come — because  he  was 
—to  be  hung!"  and,  with  a  fearful  shriek,  that  tore  the 
hearts  of  her  listeners,  Helen  again  relapsed  into  uncon- 
sciousness, and  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor,  had  not 
Isabella  and  the  young  men — who  sprung  forward — sus- 
tained her  in  their  arms. 

"  It  will  not  do  to  leave  her  a  moment,  Arthur,"  said 
Isabella,  when  the  unconscious  girl  had  been  placed  again 
in  her  bed.  "  And,  as  I  would  wish  to  have  the  com- 
mand of  all  my  strength,  please  bring  me  no  more  news — 
unless,  of  course,  you  can  bring  us  good  news.  I  would 
rather  have  everything  hereafter  a  great  blank — and  think 
of  nothing  but  Helen.  She  will  need  all  my  care,  if  we 
would  preserve  her  life  and  her  mind.  I  do  wish  the  phy- 
sician that  I  sent  for  would  come." 

She  had  hardly  finished  speaking,  before  the  physician — 
one  of  the  medical  gentlemen  attached  to  the  army — was 
shown  into  the  room.  He  pronounced  it  an  attack  of 
brain  fever,  naturally  enough  brought  on  by  the  terrible 
circumstances  of  the  case,  with  which  they  felt  bound  to 
acquaint  him.     If  Helen  had,  however,  as  she  seemed  to 


ITONJ 

karo, 

'» 

rang  a  parawinkle 

tang, 

lly  mitty  kimo.' 

50  serious,  gentlemen?  Is  it 
married  ! ' '  Here  she  gave  a 
r  which  is  so  dreadful  to  hear, 
nge  of  expression,  "perhaps 
11  not  come?  Hark  !"  hold- 
)esn't  he  come  ?  Why  doesn't 
mounted  almost  to  a  shriek — 
i  them  say" — here  she  paused 
recollect  something — "oh,  I 
Id  not  come — because  he  was 
L  fearful  shriek,  that  tore  the 
1  again  relapsed  into  uncon- 
fallen  to  the  floor,  had  not 
1 — who  sprung  forward — sus- 

her  a  moment,  Arthur,"  said 
)us  girl  had  been  placed  again 
TOuld  wish  to  have  the  com- 
:ase  bring  me  no  more  news — 
ring  us  good  news.  I  would 
ifter  a  great  blank — and  think 
e  will  need  all  my  care,  if  we 
[ler  mind.  I  do  wish  the  phy- 
come." 

leaking,  before  the  physician — 
:n  attached  to  the  army — was 
I  pronounced  it  an  attack  of 
jh  brought  on  by  the  terrible 
nth  which  they  felt  bound  to 
id,  however,  as  she  seemed  to 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED   YEARS  AGO.  36 1 

have,  and  as  Isabella  said  she  had,  a  strong  and  vigorous 
constitution,  he  thought  with  careful  nursing,  and  the  ut- 
most quiet,  she  might  ultimately  recover  her  full  health 
both  of  mind  and  body.  The  case  however  was  evidently 
a  very  serious  one,  and,  under  the  most  favorable  circum- 
stances, would  confine  her  to  her  room  for  weeks,  if  not 
for  months.  He  prescribed  certain  quieting  medicines, 
recommended  the  constant  application  of  cloths  wet  with 
cold  water  to  her  head,  and  said  that  if  she  was  not  better 
by  the  next  day,  her  heavy  hair  would  have  to  be  cut  off. 
We  may  simply  add  here,  that  she  did  seem  rather  bet- 
ter the  next  day,  though  still  lying  apparently  unconscious; 
but  the  beautiful  light-brown  hair,  which  had  shone  like 
threads  of  gold  in  the  sunshine,  to  the  graceful  movements 
of  her  imperial  head,  no  longer  existed.  That  one  night 
of  sorrow  and  suffering  had  changed  the  glossy  gold  into  a 
lustrous  silver. 


31 


i 


36» 


PEMBERTON  } 


CHAPTER  XI. 

PEMBERTN   AND   ANDRE. 

What  I  did,  I  did  In  honor,  «„i,a«.w 

Led  by  the  impartial  conduct  of  my  ,ov\.-Shaksfeart. 

The  next  day  Pemberton  rode  over  to  see  Major  Andr6. 
Presenting  his  pass  at  the  front  door,  where  several  senti- 
BsweestatioLdJ.ewas  conducted  al^^^ 

Tsentinel  also  paced,  to  the  door  of  the  -o-'  -'-    -; 
other  sentry  kept  guard.  Every  precaution  seemed  to  have 

been  taken  to  prevent  an  escape. 

In  the  room  itself,  two  officers  of  approved  vigilance  and 

fidelity  were  constantly  posted,  with  strict  orders  not  to 
leave  the  prisoner,  by  day  or  by  night,  even  for  a  mo- 

""  Andre,  dressed  in  the  rich  uniform  of  a  British  officer, 
wa.seated  at  a  table  conversing  with  his  guards,  as  Pem- 
TeTtrentered.     Recognizing  his  friend,  he  sprang  to  his 

feet  with  an  exclamation.  „.,,"^^:pahe 

.<  Dear  Arthur-I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!     cr  ed  he 
flingin'^  his  arms  around  Pemberton's  neck,  while  tears 
cZ"  nto  his  fine  eyes.     And  Pemberton  responded  with 

ThefXr  introducing  Pemberton  to  the  American 
officers,  who  drew  back  withdelicacy  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  the  friends  seated  themselves 

Several  sheets  of  paper  lay  on  the  table,  and  Andr6 
smilingly  pointed  out  to  Arthur  two  drawings  he  had  been 
rTaking  lith  pen  and  ink  for  the  amusement  of  his  guard. 
One  wis  a  likeness  of  himself,  as  he  sat  then  at  he  taWe- 
an  excellent  likeness,  though  executed  without  the  aid  of 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED  V  EARS  AGO. 


363 


n; 


XI. 

»  ANDRE. 

ict  of  my  »oM\.—Shaksfeart. 

e  over  to  see  Major  Andr6. 
door,  where  several  senti- 
ucted  along  an  entry  where 
or  of  the  room,  where  an- 
precaution  seemed  to  have 

s  of  approved  vigilance  and 

,  with  strict  orders  not  to 

by  night,  even  for  a  mo- 

iniform  of  a  British  officer, 
g  with  his  guards,  as  Pem- 
his  friend,  he  sprang  to  his 

id  to  see  you!"  cried  he, 
nberton's  neck,  while  tears 
Pemberton  responded  with 

mberton  to  the  American 
ielicacy  to  the  other  end  of 
hernselves. 

y  on  the  table,  and  Andr6 
ir  two  drawings  he  had  been 
the  amusement  of  his  guards, 
as  he  sat  then  at  the  table- 
executed  without  the  aid  of 


a  mirror.  The  other  was  more  humorous,  being  a  picture 
of  himself  shortly  after  his  arrest,  and  while  being  escorted 
by   his   rough   captors  to  the  American   post  at   North 

Castle. 

"  A  man  must  do  something  at  a  moment  like  this,  to 
keep  his  thoughts  employed,"  said  he,  with  a  slight  shud- 
der. "  But  you  know  what  I  am  longing  to  hear.  How 
does  Helen  bear  this  cruel  stroke  ?" 

"  She  is  in  God's  mercy  lying  so  ill  as  to  be  unconsci- 
ous of  anything,"  replied  Pemberton  solemnly.  Then  he 
narrated  to  Andr6  how  they  all  had  journeyed  to  Tappan 
to  see  him,  and  how  the  excitement  and  sorrow  had  thrown 
Helen  into  a  dangerous  illness— omitting,  of  course,  the 
more  painful  features  of  the  story. 

Andr6  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand  and  said  nothing 
for  a  time,  though  his  countenance,  as  Pemberton  caught 
glimpses  of  it  occasionally,  was  convulsed  with  grief.  Then 
he  seemed  to  master  his  feelings  with  a  strong  effort,  and 
he  said  quietly  ; 

"  Perhaps  it  is  best — perhaps  it  is  best !  It  would  un- 
man me— it  would  kill  her— to  meet  thus,  and  part !  Vou 
see  this  miniature  "—taking  it  from  his  bosom— "  it  is  t):e 
work  of  my  own  hand,  and  I  think  a  good  likeness,  al- 
though painted  from  memory.  I  wish  to  have  it  next  my 
heart  so  long  as  I  live ;  then  take  it,  and  give  it  to  her 
when  she  can  bear  to  see  it,  and  tell  her,  Arthur,"  here 
his  voice  broke  down  and  he  paused  for  a  few  moments — 
"  tell  her  that  I  loved  her  to  the  la^i,  and  that  my  greatest 
regret  in  dying  is  that  I  have  so  clouded  with  my  fate  her 
young  and  glorious  life." 

"  She  told  me  to  tell  you,"  replied  Pemberton—"  it  was 
yesterday,  before  her  attack  of  illness,  and  she  thought  I 
should  see  you  at  once — that  she  never  loved  you  more 
than  now.    That  she  loved  you  utterly,  and  knew  that,  in 


3^4 


pemberton; 


all  you  had  done,  you  had  acted  like  the  noble  gentleman 
and  true  man  you  always  were." 

"  God  bless  her  noble  heart !"  responded  Andr6.  "It 
takes  half  the  bitterness  of  death  away  to  have  her  say  that. 
Tell  her,  when  she  recovers,  that  I  said  this,  and  tell  her, 
also,  that  I  know  I  have  done  nothing  of  which  an  honor- 
able man  and  a  British  soldier  need  be  ashamed.  Do  you 
think  I  have,  my  dear  friend?" 

*•  I  do  not.  I  have  told  Washington  himself  so,  and 
have  urged  every  plea  I  could  in  your  favor.  But  with  nc> 
effect.  They  all  respect  and  pity  you,  John  ;  but  they  all 
think  that  policy  demands  your  sacrifice.  I  see  no  hope,' ' 
added  Pemberton,  in  an  agonized  voice, 

"  I  gave  up  all  hope  when  the  Court-Martial  made  its 
unanimous  decision."  said  Andr6,  in  a  voice  which  did 
not  even  falter.  "I  saw  it  in  their  fares  that  I  should 
have  to  die,  to  prove  that  they  were  true  to  their  country 
— that  Arnold's  defection  began  and  ended  with  himself. 
Well,  so  be  it !  I  am  prepared  to  die  like  a  man.  But  I 
would  wish,  also,  to  die  like  a  soldier.  Do  you  think,  Ar- 
thiff,  that  Washington  can  refuse  this  last  request?"  and 
he  opened  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  sheet  of  paper.  "  Here 
is  a  copy  of  a  petition  I  have  just  forwarded.  * '  Pemberton 
took  it  and  read  as  follows : 

"  Sir  :  Buoyed  above  the  terror  of  death  by  the  con 
sciousness  of  a  life  devoted  to  honorable  pursuits  and 
stained  with  no  action  that  can  give  me  remorse,  I  trust 
that  the  request  I  make  to  your  Excellency,  at  this  serious 
period,  and  which  is  to  soften  my  last  moments,  will  not 
be  rejected. 

"  Sympathy  toward  a  soldier  will  surely  induce  your  Ex- 
cellency and  a  military  tribunal  to  adapt  the  mode  of  my 
death  to  the  feelings  of  a  man  of  honor.     Let  me  hope. 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


365 


ke  the  noble  gentleman 

esponded  Andr6.  "It 
iray  to  have  her  say  that. 
[  said  this,  and  tell  her, 
ling  of  which  an  honor- 
1  lie  ashamed.     Do  you 

ington  himself  so,  and 
3ur  favor.  But  with  net 
you,  John  ;  but  they  all 
;rifice.  I  see  no  hope, ' ' 
voice. 

Court-Martial  made  its 
t,  in  a  voice  which  did 
eir  fares  that  I  should 
re  true  to  their  country 
nd  ended  with  himself. 
I  die  like  a  man.  But  I 
ier.  Do  you  think,  Ar- 
his  last  request?"  and 
1  sheet  of  paper.  * '  Here 
•rwarded."     Pemberton 


r  of  death  by  the  con 
honorable  pursuits  and 
jive  me  remorse,  I  trust 
tcellency,  at  this  serious 
last  moments,  will  not 

[1  surely  induce  your  Ex- 

3  adapt  the  mode  of  niy 

honor.     Let  me  hope, 


sir  that  if  aught  in  my  character  impresses  you  with  esteem 
toiard  me,  if  aught  in  my  misfortunes  marks  me  the  vic- 
tim of  policy,  and  not  of  resentment,  I  shall  experience 
the  operation  of  those  feelings  in  your  heart,  by  being  in- 
formed that  I  am  not  to  die  on  a  gibbet. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  be  your  Excellency's  most  obedi- 
ent and  most  humble  servant,'  John  Andre,  ^^ 
"Adjutant-General  to  the  British  army. 

"  Have  you  had  any  reply  to  this?"  asked  Pemberton, 

with  deep  emotion.  . 

"Not  as  yet.     There  has  scarcely  been  time.     Is  it 

properly  worded  ?" 

"It  could  not  be  better.     It  reads  like  the  man  and 


•  N.  P.  Willi,  has  beautifully  paraphrased  this  letter  to  Washington,  1 
"  It  is  not  the  fear  of  death 

That  damps  my  brow ; 
It  is  not  for  another  breath 

I  ask  thee  now ; 
1  can  die  with  a  lip  unstirred 

And  a  quiet  heart — 
Let  but  this  prayer  be  heard 
,  Ere  I  depart. 

"  I  can  give  up  my  mother's  look— 

My  sister's  kiss; 
I  can  think  of  love— yet  brook 

A  death  like  tliis ! 
I  can  give  up  the  young  fame  V— 

I  burned  to  win; 
"    '    '    :   '"  All— tut  the  spotless  name 

I  glory  in. 

,        "Thine  is  the  powei' to  give. 
Thine  to  deny, 
Joy  for  the  hour  I  live. 

Calmness  to  d'e. 
By  all  the  bravu  should  cherish. 
By  ray  dying  breath,  .    _.. 

'"  I  ask  that  I  may  perish 

By  a  soldier's  death." 


I  follows: 


.,M^ 


m 


366 


PEMBERTON  J 


gentleman  you  are.  They  must  be  cruel  indeed,  to  deny 
your  request.  But  they  will  not  deny  it.  No  policy  surely 
can  dictate  that." 

"  It  will  be,  I  confess,  a  cruel  blow  to  me  if  they  deny 
this  poor  last  petition,"  rejoined  Andre,  with  deep  feeling. 
"  But  whatever  may  be  the  result,  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  to 
meet  it  with  the  composure  of  a  man  and  the  courage  of  a 
soldier.  It  is  crime  alone  that  can  make  any  punishment 
ignominious  and  shameful ;  and  if  I  know  my  own  heart, 
my  great  object  in  this  affair  was  to  put  an  end  to  this  un- 
happy civil  war,  and  to  prevent  the  further  shedding  of 
blood.  I  admit  that  I  was  ambitious — but,  as  I  am  a  true 
man,  Arthur,  the  motives  I  have  given  you  were  my  lead- 
ing motives." 

"  You  had  a  right  to  be  ambitious,  John,"  said  Pem- 
berton,  gazing  with  sorrowful  eyes  of  admiration  upon  the 
noble  countenance  of  his  friend— "you,  so  accomplished, 
so  gifted  !  You  had  the  same  right  to  be  ambitious  as  a 
young  eagle  has  to  use  its  wings." 

"Alas,"  replied  Andrd,  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing, "  here  is  the  end  of  all  my  ambitious  dreams  !  I  have 
reached  the  age  of  twenty-nine,  and  am  a  Major,  and  Ad- 
jutant-General of  the  British  army.  It  is  little,  Arthur,  to 
what  I  had  hoped  to  attain,  before  the  last  page  of  my 
history  should  be  turned,  and  Finis  written  below  it.  If 
I  had  succeeded — I  should  have  touched  those  steps  which 
lead  up  to  the  highest  honors.  I  should  have  ended  the 
war.  I  should  have  pacified  and  fully  satisfied  every  rea- 
sonable man  among  your  countrymen.  I  should  have  pre- 
served this  immense  Continent  to  the  British  Empire  and 
the  Protestant  Fai  '  .  But  one  false  step,  one  foolish 
word,  undid  it  all." 

Andr6  paused,  and  seemed  lost  in  his  reflections. 
Pemberton  made  no  reply.    He  could  nc  argue  against 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


3«7 


ie  cruel  indeed,  to  deny 
ieny  it.     No  policy  surely 

blow  to  me  if  they  deny 
Andre,  witli  deep  feeling. 
,  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  to 
nan  and  the  courage  of  a 
an  make  any  punishment 
f  I  know  my  own  heart, 
to  put  an  end  to  this  un- 
the  further  shedding  of 
;ious — but,  as  I  am  a  true 
given  you  were  my  lead- 

tious,  John,"  said  Pem- 
;s  of  admiration  upon  the 
-"  you,  so  accomplished, 
right  to  be  ambitious  as  a 

I  sudden  revulsion  of  feel- 
mbitious  dreams  !  I  have 
and  am  a  Major,  and  Ad- 
y.  It  is  little,  Arthur,  to 
efore  the  last  page  of  my 
inis  written  below  it.  If 
touched  those  steps  which 
I  should  have  ended  the 
i  fully  satisfied  every  rea- 
^men.  I  should  have  pre- 
:o  the  British  Empire  and 
e  false  step,  one  foolish 

it  in  his  reflections. 

le  could  nc  argue  against 


a  man  on  the  threshold  of  the  grave-although  the  officers 
of  the  guard,  who  caught  snatches  of  the  conversation, 
gazed  at  times  curiously  at  him. 

^  Andr6  observed  them  not  however,  or  cared  not  for 
them  and  their  thoughts.     In  a  few  moments  he  resumed. 
Z  suppose  it  was  to  be  so  however.     It  .s  difficult  to 
think  that  it  was  a  mere  chance,  which  a  httle  more  cau 
ion  might  have  averted.     You  know  the  dream,  Arthur, 
"at      o  d  you  about,  the  evening  after  our  Wissahickon 
irventure      And  the  Fortune-Teller's  vision.     One  has 
come  tL.     The  other  doubtless  will  come  true  this  day 
mat  If  Westminster  Abbey  ?   Will  that  come  true  too? 

•a  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  Pemberton  felt  himself  almost 
imnelled  to  reply.  He  could  not  himself  analyze  the  ira- 
pdlnglrcr  Perhaps  it  was  the  mere  humane  wish  to 
effort  his  friend.  "I  have  no  doubt  that  when  they 
Tear  at  home  of  your  sad  fate,  your  name  will  be  enrolled 
at  Westminster  among  the  noblest  and  bravest  of  Eng- 

^'"<  Think  you  so?"  exclaimed  Andr6,  the  cloud  of  grief 
upon  his  face  lightening-"  then  I  have  not  failed  utteriy 
after  all.     I  might  have  died  in  battle  any  day,  and  the 
annals  of  my  country  scarcely  have  known  that  such  a  man 
as  John  Andr6  ever  existed."  •„„„,, 

«  You  have  written  your  name  upon  the  enduring  mar- 
ble  of  your  country's  history,  you  may  depend  upon  that, 
rejoined  Pemberton,  with  proud  sympathy. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  young  officer  entered.  It  was 
Colonel  Hamilton.  _  , 

He  had  been  Andre's  best  friend  since  his  capture,  and 
was  well  known  to  Pemberton.  ^^ 

-  You  are  reprieved  till  noon  to-morrow.  Major,  said 
,.<.  after  shaking  hands  with  both  of  *l.em,  but  without 
any  manifestation  of  pleasure  in  his  face, 


368 


PEMBERTOK  ; 


"What  does  it  mean?"  questioned  Andrt. 

"  Sir  Henry  Clinton  has  deputed  General  Robertson  to 
meet  General  Greene  and  make  certain  representations 
relative  to  the  case,  and  the  true  state  of  the  facts.  Of 
course,  courtesy  to  Sir  Henry  required  the  reprieve." 

««I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Sir  Henry  for  his  kind- 
ness," replied  Andr^,  with  emotion.  "He  has  always 
acted  toward  me  more  like  a  father  and  a  friend  than  a 
general.  But  of  course  it  will  amount  to  nothing,"  look- 
ing at  Hamilton. 

"  It  will  amount  to  nothing.  It  is  a  mere  formality  on 
our  part,"  replied  Hamilton  gloomily.  "Though  some 
of  the  officers  think— I  do  not— that  Sir  Henry  is  ready, 
as  a  last  resort,  to  offer  in  exchange  for  you  that  traitor, 

Arnold." 

"Never — never — ^never!"  cried  Andr6  impetuously, 
springing  to  his  feet.  "To  save  his  own  son,  his  own 
father,  Sir  Henry  would  never  do  that !  Not  if  Arnold 
himself  were  to  propose  it." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Hamilton.  "  I  merely  told  you 
what  many  think.  But  as  to  Arnold,  the  story  goes,  '  to 
give  the  devil  his  due,'  that  he  really  has  proposed  it  to 

Sir  Henry." 

"  It  is  a  nobler  act  than  I  should  have  given  him  credit 
for,"  replied  Andr6,  in  whose  mind,  as  our  readers  know, 
Arnold's  conduct  had  not  left  the  most  favorable  impres- 
sion, "  but,  of  course.  Sir  Henry  would  not  hear  of  it,  and 
I  would  not  hear  of  it."  . 

"  I  do  not  know  that  the  story  is  true,"  said  Hamilton. 
"It  is  merely  rumor." 

"  It  is  not  entirely  unlike  Arnold's  daring  recklessness," 
said  Pemberton.  "  He  once  told  me  that  he  scarcely 
knew  what  fear  was." 

"  I  believe  that,"  rejoined  Hamilton.     "  I  saw  him  re- 


■■■   ^  *!f\ 


ned  Andr6. 

3d  General  Robertson  to 
:  certain  representations 
e  state  of  the  facts.  Of 
uired  the  reprieve." 
Sir  Henry  for  his  kind- 
)tion.  "  He  has  always 
,ther  and  a  friend  than  a 
[lount  to  nothing,"  look- 
It  is  a  mere  formality  on 
jomily.  "Though  some 
-that  Sir  Henry  is  ready, 
inge  for  you  that  traitor, 

ed  Andr6  impetuously, 
ve  his  own  son,  his  own 
io  that !     Not  if  Arnold 

on.  "I  merely  told  you 
•nold,  the  story  goes,  •  to 
really  has  proposed  it  to 

lid  have  given  him  credit 

lind,  as  our  readers  know, 

le  most  favorable  impres- 

would  not  hear  of  it,  and 

r  is  true,"  said  Hamilton. 

)ld's  daring  recklessness," 
old  me  that  he  scarcely 

amilton.     "  I  saw  him  re- 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


369 


ceive  the  Major's  note,  telling  him  that  the  game  was  up, 
and  go  on  with  his  breakfast,  crunching  some  dry  toast, 
just  as  coolly  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Then  he  made 
an  apology  and  left  the  table,  and  soon  after  was  thundcr- 
i„.r  down  on  horseback  to  tlie  landing,  thence  into  his 
barge,  and  with  his  pistol  in  his  hand,  down  the  Hudson 
to  the  Vulture.  He  must  have  been  in  the  ship  by  the 
time  I  started  on  horseback  to  intercept  him  at  King's 

"  What  do  you  suppose  he  would  have  done  if  you  had 
been  in  time?"  queried  Pemberton. 

"Pushed  through,  if  he  could,  in  spite  of  us.  If  the 
worst  came,  blown  his  own  brains  out." 

"Colonel,  to  change  the  subject,"  said  Andr6,  "has 
any  decision  been  come  to,  relative  to  that  last  request  I 

made  to  you?"  ,.  j  n 

"  I  believe  it  is  still  under  consideration,"  replied  Ham- 
ilton. "I  can  assure  you,  Major,  it  shall  not  fail  from 
want  of  any  urging  of  mine." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  not  require  any  great  amount 
of  urging,  to  gallant  men  and  soldiers,"  rejoined  Andr6, 
a  little  coldly  and  haughtily. 

Hamilton  rose  to  withdraw.  "  I  will  no  longer  mter- 
rupt  your  conversation,  gentlemen.  Anything  I  can  do 
for  either  of  you,  shall  be  most  cheerfully  done,  I  assure 

^°When  Hamilton  had  closed  the  door,  Andr6  said— 
"  That  man  is  a  true  gentleman,  Arthur.  And  more,  he 
seems  to  me  the  ablest  man  I  have  yet  met  among  your 
leaders.     I  have  not  seen  Washington— he  appears  to 

avoid  me." 

"Washington  is  a  man  to  whom  the  supreme  thing  is 
his  duty  to  his  country.  He  means  to  be  as  just  and  im- 
partial as  eternal  Fate.     He  is  afraid,  I  judge,  to  see  you ; 


370 


PEMBERTON 


you,   his  sympathy  shoul  I  rloud  his  judg 


lest  seeing 
mcnt." 

An(lr6  smiled.  "  Your  friendship  makes  you  too  com- 
pliiiientary  by  half,  Arthur.  From  what  I  have  heard  of 
your  grf;at  leader,  1  am  not  the  sun  that  could  thaw  in  the 
least  such  a  perfect  statue — of  ice." 

•*  Indeed,  you  wrong  him,  John.  If  you  knew  him  as  I 
do,  you  would  do  him  justice.  But  I  had  intended  to  ask 
whether  there  was  any  way  in  which  I  could  be  of  service 
to  you." 

"  In  no  other  way  than  by  giving  me  as  much  of  your 
company  as  possible.  Even  to  the  very  last,"  added  An- 
dre, with  a  deep  breath,  "  I  shall  go  more  cheerfully  to 
the  gallows — or  whatever  it  be — if  I  can  see  your  dear, 
loving  eyes  as  I  go.  You  will  not  fear  to  witness  what  I 
shall  not  fear  to  bear  ?' ' 

Pemberton  wrung  his  friend's  hand.  "  I  am  not  certain 
that  mine  will  not  be  the  harder  task ;  but  I  will  stand  by 
you,  John,  to  the  end." 

"  I  knew  you  would,  friend  of  my  heart !"  exclaimed 
Andr6,  while  the  tears  filled  his  eyes  and  f«^ll  upon  the 
hand  of  Pemberton.  "And  it  seems  to  me,  as  you  and  I 
sit  here,  the  truest  of  friends,  though  arrayed  under  dif- 
ferent banners,  that  it  typifies  what,  in  some  way,  in  the 
inscrutable  providence  of  God,  shall  take  place  hereafter. 
That  the  time  shall  come  when  the  great  fact  of  our  being 
created  kindred  shall  prevail  over  all  this  foolish  conten- 
tion and  bitterness  j  and  America  and  England  be  joined 
once  more,  in  heart  and  soul,  if  not  in  political  bonds, 
like  two  generous  and  loving  brothers." 

"  God  grant  that  it  may  be  so  !"  exclaimed  Pemberton 
with  enthusiasm.     "  Blood  is  indeed  thicker  than  water !" 

Nothing  was  said  for  a  time,  then  Andr6  caught  up  the 


roN; 

ly  shouM  cloud  his  judg- 

idship  makes  you  too  com- 
""rom  what  I  have  heard  of 
;  sun  that  could  thaw  in  the 
ice." 

ahn.     If  you  knew  him  as  I 

But  I  had  intended  to  ask 

which  I  could  be  of  service 

jiving  me  as  much  of  your 
0  the  very  last,"  added  An- 
shall  go  more  cheerfully  to 
»e — if  I  can  see  your  dear, 
,  not  fear  to  witness  what  I 

's  hand.  "  I  am  not  certsin 
ler  task ;  but  I  will  stand  by 

i  of  my  heart  1"  exclaimed 
tiis  eyes  and  f«^ll  upon  the 
t  seems  to  me,  as  you  and  I 
,  though  arrayed  under  dif- 
3  what,  in  some  way,  in  the 
d,  shall  take  place  hereafter, 
n  the  great  fact  of  our  being 
over  all  this  foolish  conten- 
erica  and  England  be  joined 
,  if  not  in  political  bonds, 
brothers." 

:  so  !"  exclaimed  Pemberton 

indeed  thicker  than  water  1" 

B,  then  Andr6  caught  up  the 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


8»« 


pen,  and  made  a  rapid  sketch.     "  Do  you  recognize  the 
scene?"  asked  he  when  it  was  completed. 

..  It  looks  like  the  Hudson,  but  1  do  not  recognize  the 

place  " 

..  It  is  the  Hudson,  as  I  saw  it  that  wretched  day  from 
the  chamber  of  Smith's  house.  That  is  intended  for  the 
Vulture  You  see  how  wide  tlie  river  is  there,  it  is  almost 
a  bay  It  is  a  magnificent  view,  I  can  assure  you ;  but  it 
was  a  very  sad  one  that  day  to  me.  So  near  safety,  and 
so  impossible  to  reach  it.  I  tell  you,  Arthur,  it  was  like 
looking  over  the  walls  into  Paradise." 

"May  I  keep  it?"  j  r     V -, 

«  Of  course.     I  drew  it  on  purpose  for  you  and  for  Isa- 
bella     You  said  she  was  well.     She  is  one  of  the  very 
noblest  women  I  ever  knew.     Remember  me  to  her,  as  to 
the  dearest  loved  of  sisters.     I  had  hoped  to  dance  with 
Helen  at  your  wedding-and  then  have  you  dance  at  ours. 
Ah  me !     Ah  me  !     '  Man  is  like  the  flower  of  the  grass 
that  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven      But 
there  is  a  kind  Father,  that  rules  all  and  controls  all-and 
without  whom  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground.      n  t    3 
belief,  which  my  mother  taught  me,  Arthur,  I  shall  die 
content — yes,  content ! 

.'  I  have  written  to  my  poor  mother,  and  to  my  sistew 
and  brothers,"  added  Andr6  after  a  pause.     "  It  will  be  a 

sad  blow  to  them." 

"  Your  will— is  it  made  ?" 

"  I  fortunately  drew  it  up  before  leaving  New  York,  and 
I  have  written  to  Captain  Boissier  about  the  disposal  of 
my  effects.     Yes,  I  think  everything  is  done. 

After  some  further  desultory  conversation,  Pemberton 
left,  promising  to  call  in  again  in  the  afternoon. 


37* 


PEMBERT0I4  ] 


CHAi'TER  XII. 

CAPTAIN   fanny's   PLAN. 

Give    ii«  but  breathing  time,  I'll  rncue  him, 
Ihuui;!)  furty  tliiiusuiiil  tciuriu  itguU  on  guard, 
\V  iih  Argui  at  their  heftd. 

As  Pembcrton  was  riding  homeward  slowly,  he  observed 
a  solitary  female  figure  standing  beneath  a  tree  on  the  side 
of  the  roiid.  Absorbed  in  his  unhappy  thoughts,  and  sup- 
posing that  it  was  mer>.  1.  some  country  maiden,  he  would 
have  ridden  on,  had  /■  t  the  girl  accosted  him  with  a 
"  Good-mornin'  to  ye,  Mr.  Pimberton." 

"  Why,  is  that  you.  Captain  Fanny?"  exclaimed  he  in 
surpi  so.  "  What  brings  you  up  into  this  part  of  the 
countiy  ?" 

The  Rtme  that  brings  you,  Mr.  Timberton." 

"Ah!" 

"']  i\e  Major  did  my  brither  a  great  sarvice  once,  yer 
hoKC.  And  you  renumber  how  I  carried  love-letters  be- 
;  v7'.x.t  him  and  Miss  Hilin — the  magnificent  crathure  ! — 
And  now  they  say  he  must  be  hung !"  the  tears  that  came 
into  Fanny's  eyes  proved  her  earnestness. 

"  I  would  give  everything  I  have  in  the  world  to  pre- 
vent it,  Fanny — but  I  can  do  nothing." 

"That  is  jist  what  I  wanted  to  see  yer  honor  about. 
They  say  he  is  to  die  this  avening." 

"It  has  been  put  off  until  to-morrow  at  noon." 

"  'Twill  not  do.  It's  not  long  enough,  yer  honor.  Get 
us  a  week — only  one  week,  yer  honor — and  we  can  save 
him." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Pemberton,  turning  his  horse's  head; 
"  but  I  have  no  faith  that  I  can  obtain  one  day's  further 


ON  J 


R  XII. 
my's  plan. 

e,  I'll  rcicuehim, 
itric*  iUmmI  ou  guauti, 


meward  slowly,  he  observed 
g  beneath  a  tree  on  the  side 
luihappy  thoughts,  and  sup- 
;  country  maiden,  he  would 
I  girl  accosted  him  with  a 
iniberton." 

\  Fanny?"  exclaimed  he  in 
I  up  into  this  part  of  the 

Mr.  rimberton." 

r  a  great  sarvice  once,  yer 

low  I  carried  love-letters  be- 

he  magnificent  crathure  I — 

hung !"  the  tears  that  came 

earnestness. 

[  have  in  the  world  to  pre- 

nothing." 

ed  to  see  yer  honor  about. 

ning." 

o-morrow  at  noon." 

)ng  enough,  yer  honor.     Get 

;r  honor — and  we  can  save 


on,  turning  his  horse's  head; 
;an  obtain  one  day's  further 


-'t:;- 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


373 


delay.     You  say  if  you  had  a  week,  you  could  save  him  ; 
would  your  plan  endanger  any  man's  life?" 

"  No  man's  life— but  his— and  mine.  And  had  he  not 
better  die,  in  a  bold  push  for  fradom,  than  stay  there  and 
be  lumgup  like  a  dog?" 

"I  will  try  then  what  I  can  do,"  said  Pcmberton. 
"  Have  you  anything  more  to  say  to  me  than  this?" 

"  Nothing,  yer  honor.  Get  me  the  >vcek— jist  one  lit- 
tle week.  For  the  sake  of  the  blessed  and  merciful  Virgin, 
jist  one  week— and  I  will  answer  for  the  rest,  in  spite  of 
their  sax  sentinels  and  two  officers." 

As  Pemberton  rode  back  toward  headquarters,  he  ques- 
tioned within  himself  as  to  Captain  Fanny's  competency 
to  perform  her  promise.  But  he  had  heard  Morris  speak 
with  so  much  admiration  of  Fanny's  courage  and  capacity, 
in  a  conversation  suggested  by  the  unexpected  rencontre 
between  the  two  at  his  mother's  house,  that  he  did  not 
feel  disposed  to  omit  anything  which  offered  oven  a  possi- 
ble chance  for  his  friend's  deliverance.  If  she  failed, 
matters  could  not  be  made  worse. 

Some  may  think  that  Pemberton  in  this  matter  was  not 
acting  a  very  patriotic  part.  Probably  they  are  correct. 
But  I  am  not  depicting  a  model  patriot,  but  only  a  fallible 
man,  who  possessed  in  a  strong  degree  the  feelings  of  a 
man.  He  did  what  I  am  narrating— and  must  be  judged 
by  the  record.  That  he  was  not  ashamed  of  what  he  did, 
was  proven  by  his  frequent  declarations  after  the  war, 
when  talking  over  the  matter  with  his  friends,  that  if  he 
could  have  aided  in  Andre's  escape,  he  would  certainly 
have  done  so.  And  he  always  further  took  the  ground, 
in  opposition  to  the  nearly  unanimous  sentiments  of  those 
friends,  that  the  execution  of  Andre  was  not  called  for 
either  by  considerations  of  justice  or  of  sound  policy.  So 
much,  in  explanation  and  partial  vindication  of  Pember- 


374 


PEMBERTON  J 


ton's  course.     Though  probably,  after  all,  he  was  governed 
in  what  he  did,  more  by  feeling  than  by  reason. 

When  he  arrived  at  Washington's  headquarters,  he  found 
the  General  surrounded  by  a  number  of  his  principal  offi- 
cers. As  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  he  made  known, 
as  soon  as  possible,  the  purport  of  his  visit,  pleading  ear- 
nestly just  for  ope  week's  delay — one  little  week. 

"  If  you  could  give  any  good  reason  for  such  a  delay, 
Mr.  Pemberton,"  replied  Washington,  "  I  would  grant  it. 
But  as  all  the  facts  have  now  been  considered,  and  our 
decision  is  irrevocable,  it  would  simply  be  inflicting  a  week 
of  torture  upon  the  prisoner,  to  grant  your  request.  Do 
you  not  think  so.  General?" 

General  Greene,  a  large,  portly  man,  in  whose  judg- 
ment his  Chief  had  great  confidence,  nodded  his  head 
emphatically. 

"It  would  be  unwise,  I  think,  in  every  respect.  It 
would  be  cruelty  to  the  prisoner,  cruelty  to  us  whose  un- 
pleasant duty  it  is  to  be  his  guards  and  executioners,  and 
would  bring  down  upon  us  a  fresh  load  of  threats,  remon- 
strances and  Commissioners  from  Clinton.  To  the  coun- 
try it  would  look  like  an  evidence  of  weakness — perhaps 
of  fear.  When  the  act  is  once  done,  then  Clinton  will 
have  to  reconcile  himself  to  it — for  as  yet  he  has  made  no 
positive  threats  of  retaliation  which  he  will  feel  bound  in 
honor  to  adhere  to.  I  therefore  give  my  judgment" — 
looking  around  the  circle  of  officers — "decidedly  against 
another  day's  postponement." 

A  unanimous  burst  of  assent  from  the  officers  followed 
the  close  of  Greene's  remarks. 

"You  have  your  answer,  Mr.  Pemberton,"  said  Wash- 
ington, kindly  but  firmly ;  "  there  is  but  one  opinion  upon 
the  sv.bject." 


,  after  all,  he  was  governed 
than  by  reason, 
n's  headquarters,  he  found 
mber  of  his  principal  offi- 
be  lost,  he  made  known, 
of  his  visit,  pleading  ear- 
— one  little  week, 
id  reason  for  such  a  delay, 
ngton,  "  I  would  grant  it. 
been  considered,  and  our 
simply  be  inflicting  a  week 
I  grant  your  request.     Do 

rtly  man,  in  whose  judg- 
fidence,  nodded  his  head 

ink,  in  every  respect.  It 
:r,  cruelty  to  us  whose  un- 
rds  and  executioners,  and 
:sh  load  of  threats,  remon- 
n  Clinton.  To  the  coun- 
nce  of  weakness — perhaps 
;e  done,  then  Clinton  will 
-for  as  yet  he  has  made  no 
liich  he  will  feel  bound  in 
ore  give  my  judgment" — 
ficers — "decidedly  against 

from  the  officers  followed 

:.  Pemberton,"  said  Wash- 
ire  is  but  one  opinion  upon 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 


37S 


Pemberton  bowed  respectfully  but  coldly,  and,  making 
no  reply,  left  the  room. 

Fanny  was  awaiting  his  coming  at  the  same  spot. 

"It  is  as  I  said;  I  can  do  nothijig.  Not  a  day  will 
they  grant  him." 

"Tlie  murtherin'  spalpeens  !"  exclaimed  Fanny  fiercely. 
"Thin  all  is  over!  Good  day,  yer  honor" — and  Fanny 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  How  would  you  have  saved  him?"  asked  Pemberton, 
checking  his  horse,  which  he  had  touched  with  the  spur. 

"  Good  strong  brandy,  and  plinty  of  goold  sover'ins, 
and  a  line  in  a  peach  to  the  Major,  and  a  fury  of  a  fire  at 
midnight,  and  two  good  horses,  and  the  Vulture  down  the 
river ;  it  could  ha'  been  done,  yer  honor.  Besides,  some 
of  the  sentries  already  think  it  a  divil  of  a  shame  to  hang 
such  a  swate  jintleman — 'specially  two,  who  were  in  the 
troop  of  Baylor's  rigiment  that  the  Major  saved  'gainst 
orders,  at  the  night  masseker  at  this  very  place." 

Captain  Fanny's  face  lighted  up  in  thinking  of  the  bold 
scheme.  "  But  it's  all  over  now  ;  there's  no  time  to  save 
him !"  added  Fanny,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

And  Peipberton  again  touched  his  horse  with  the  spur, 
and  rode  back  to  the  farm-house. 


i'K 


376 


PEMBERTON  } 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   DEATH   OF   ANDRE. 

There  was  glory  on  his  forehead, 

Tlicre  was  lustre  in  his  eye. 
And  he  never  walked  to  battle 

More  proudly  than  to  &ie.-Aytoun-t  Afontrose. 

The  hour  of  noon  had  been  appointed  for  Major  Andre's 
execution.     Andre  rose  from  his  bed  at  his  usual  hour,  and 
after  partaking  of  breakfast-which  was  supplied  him  as 
had  been  the  custom,  from  Washington's  own  table-began 
to  make  his  preparations  for  the  solemn  scene      His  ser- 
vant Laune  had  arrived  from  New  York  some  days  before 
with  a  supply  of  clothing ;  and  Andr6  this  mornmg  shaved 
and  dressed  himself  with  even  more  than  his  usual  care. 
He  wore  the  rich  scarlet  uniform,  faced  with  green,  of  a  Bn  - 
ish  officer  ;  though  without  the  customary  sash  and  sword. 
When  Pemberton   entered   about  eleven  o  clock,  he 
thought  he  had  never  seen  a  more  splendid  face  and  figure. 
The°face  was  of  a  deadly  paleness-the  brow  especially 
showing  like  a  clear  pale  marble  beneath  the  clustermg 
masses  of  raven  hair.     The  features  appeared  even  more 
refined  and  intellectual  than  was  their  wont ;  and  the  beau- 
tifiil  expression  which  sat  upon  them,  and  shone  forth  from 
his  deep  and  melancholy  eyes,  was  such  as  naturally  takes 
captive  the  hearts  of  men,  and  fills  with  devoted  enthusi- 
asm the  souls  of  women.     ^  ,.        ,  .      j 
"  He  is  the  handsomest  man  I  ever  saw !      exclaimed 
one  of  the  officers  in  attendance,  to  Pemberton ;  "  and  the 
most  gentle  and  winning."  ^^ 

«'  I  am  glad  you  have  come  in  good  time,  Arthur,    saia 
Andr6  with  a  serene  composure.     ' '  You  see  I  mean  to  die 


roNj 


R.  XIII. 

OF  ANDRE. 

his  forehead, 

in  his  eye, 

(1  to  battle 

n  to  iMe.—Aytoun't  Montrose. 

appointed  for  Major  Andre's 
his  bed  at  his  usual  hour,  and 
-which  was  supplied  him  as 
shington's  own  table— began 
the  solemn  scene.     His  ser- 
New  York  some  days  before 
i  Andr6  this  morning  shaved 
n  more  than  his  usual  care, 
m,  faced  with  green,  of  a  Brit- 
le  customary  sash  and  sword, 
i   about  eleven  o'clock,  he 
lore  splendid  face  and  figure, 
•aleness— the  brow  especially 
arble  beneath  the  clustering 
features  appeared  even  more 
vas  their  wont ;  and  the  beau- 
n  them,  and  shone  forth  from 
:s,  was  such  as  naturally  takes 
nd  fills  with  devoted  enthusi- 

an  I  ever  saw!"  exclaimed 
nee,  to  Pemberton ;  "  and  the 

le  in  good  time,  Arthur,"  said 
ure.     ' '  You  see  I  mean  to  die 


OR,    ONE   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  377 

in  the  dress  of  a  British  officer.     How  is  Helen  this  morn- 

"^^'  She  is  still  lying  unconscious— but  we  think  she  is 

rather  better."  ,       .      ,,  %,     * 

"  Thank  God  !  Do  not  forget  what  I  told  you  about 
the  miniature.  What  a  sad  ending  to  her  happy  dream  1 
But  I  must  not  think  any  more  of  that-save  to  feel  that 
her  proud  eyes  are  upon  me,  to  see  that  I  blench  not  nor 
tremble  in  this  closing  hour." 

Pemberton's  heart  was  ready  to  burst,  but  he  knew  his 
duty  to  his  friend  too  well  to  allow  his  sorrowful  feelmgs 
to  master  him  for  a  moment. 

«'  To  the  brave,  true  soul,  John,  all  that  men  can  do  is 
nothing  The  heart  right,  and  the  conscience  clear,  aa 
yours  are,  my  friend,  and  we  can  say  well-met  to  death, 
without  a  shudder." 

"  Are  you  ready.  Major?"  said  one  of  the  officers. 
"  I  am  ready,"  replied  Andre  proudly. 
As  Andr6  emerged  from  the  prison  into  the  free,  fresh 
air,  he  took  a  deep  breath,  and  gazed  up  into  the  beautiful 
blue  sky  above  him,  hazy  and  golden  with  the  glory  he  so 
much  loved  of  an  October  day.  He  walked  arm-in-arra 
between  the  two  officers,  Pemberton  walking  near  him.  A 
captain's  command  of  thirty  or  forty  men  marched  im- 
mediately around  them,  and  Andr6  glanced  expressively 
to  Pemberton  when  he  saw  these,  for  he  thought  they 
were  the  firing  party,  and  that  his  last  request  had  been 

^  Antuter  guard  of  five  hundred  men  also  attended,  at 
the  head  of  which  rode  nearly  all  the  principal  officers  of 
the  army,  with  the  exception  of  Washington  and  his  staff, 
who  from  a  feeling  of  delicacy  remained  in-doors.  Large 
crowds  of  the  soldiery,  and  of  the  citizens  from  the  sur- 
rounding country,  also  were  present. 
33* 


J 


378  PEMBERTONJ 

As  Aiidrd  passed  on,  he  retained  his  composure  in  a 
wonderful  degree — nodding  a:id  speaking  pleasantly  to 
those  ol'ticers  with  whom  he  was  acquainted ;  especially  to 
those  who  had  constituted  the  court  martial. 

The  gallows  had  been  erected  on  the  summit  of  an  emi- 
nence that  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  surrounding 
country.  It  was  also  in  full  view  of  Washington's  head- 
quarters J  but  the  doors  and  shutters  of  the  latter  were 
closed,  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen,  save  the  usual  sentinels 
pacing  in  front  of  the  house. 

As  the  mournful  procession  turned  from  the  high  road 
into  the  meadow,  Andr6  first  saw  the  gallows.  He  sud- 
denly recoiled,  and  paused  for  a  moment. 

"I  thought  you  meant  to  spare  me  this  indignity  1"  he 
exclaimed,  almost  passionately. 

"We  have  simply  to  obey  our  orders,"  replied  one  of 
the  officers. 

"Gentlemen,  you  are  making  a  great  mistake,"  cried 
Pemberton  to  a  couple  of  higher  officers,  who  were  riding 
near. 

"If  we  are,  we  are  doing  it  honestly,  and  because  we 
think  it  our  duty,"  replied  one  of  them. 

Andre  moved  on.  "I  must  drink  the  cup  to  the  dregs, 
it  seems,"  he  said  with  deep  emotion.  "  But  it  will  soon 
be  over."  The  pleasant  smile,  however,  had  vanished 
from  his  face.  It  was  evident  that  what  he  thought  a 
needless  indignity,  cut  sharper  than  the  sentence  of  death 
itself. 

The  gallows  was  simply  a  rude  but  lofty  gibbet,  with  a 
wagon  drawn  under  it.  Inside  the  wagon  was  a  roughly- 
made  coffin,  painted  black.  As  Andr6  stood  near  the 
wagon,  awaiting  some  brief  preparations,  his  agony  seemed 
almost  more  than  he  could  bear ;  his  throat  sinking  and 
swelling  as  though  convulsed,  while  he  rolled  a  pebble  to 


TON  J 

stained  his  composure  in  a 
mil  spc.ikiiig  pleasantly  to 
as  acquainted  ;  csjjecially  to 
court  martial. 

;d  on  the  summit  of  an  emi- 
ie  view  of  the  surrounding 
view  of  Washington's  head- 
shutters  of  the  latter  were 
leen,  save  the  usual  sentinels 

turned  from  the  high  road 
saw  the  gallows.     He  sud- 

r  a  moment. 

pare  me  this  indignity  1"  he 

r, 

our  orders,"  replied  one  of 

ing  a  great  mistake,"  cried 
^le^  officers,  who  were  riding 

it  honestly,  and  because  we 
le  of  them. 

It  drink  the  cup  to  the  dregs, 
emotion.  "  But  it  will  soon 
ile,  however,  had  vanished 
ent  that  what  he  thought  a 
T  than  the  sentence  of  death 

•ude  but  lofty  gibbet,  with  a 
ie  the  wagon  was  a  roughly- 
As  Andr6  stood  near  the 
eparations,  his  agony  seemed 
bear ;  his  throat  sinking  and 
,  while  he  rolled  a  pebble  to 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AOO. 


379 


and  fro  under  one  of  his  feet.  Laune,  his  servant,  totally 
overcome,  burst  out  into  loud  weepings  and  lamentations. 
This  seemed  to  rouse  and  restore  his  master,  who  turned 
to  him,  and  uttered  some  cheering  and  comforting  words. 
All  around  there  were  solemn  faces,  and  many  were  even 

in  tears.  .     ,  ,  „        v- 

At  a  word  from  one  of  the  officers,  Andr6  flung  his  arms 
round  Pemberton's  neck  and  kissed  him,  and  sprang  lightly 
but  with  evident  loathing  into  the  baggage- wagon,  stand- 
ing upon  the  coffin.     Then  he  looked  around  him-upon 
his  executioner,  with  his  blackened  face ;  upon  the  sad- 
dened soldiery  and  the  mournful  crowd ;  upon  the  glorious 
landscape,  resplendent  with  the  hues  of  Autumn,  and  melt- 
ing gradually  away  into  the  hazy  distance.     Then  the  old, 
proud  look  came  back  into  his  face— and  he  seemed  more 
like  a  hero,  mounted  in  the  car  of  triumph,  and  prepared 
to  receive  the  acclamations  of  his  followers,  than  a  man 
about  to  suffer  a  shameful  death. 

The  executioner  approached  him,  but  he  waved  h.m 
away  with  a  grand  disdain,  and  tossing  his  hat  to  the 
ground,  removed  his  stock,  opened  wide  his  shirt-collar, 
and  taking  the  noose,  adjusted  it  himself  properly  about  his 
neck.  On  his  face  was  a  proud  disgust  as  he  did  this— 
as  if  he  said  without  useless  words,  ''  You  have  the  power ; 
and  though  you  use  your  power  meanly,  I  am  man  and 
soldier  enough  to  submit  to  it!"  Then  he  bound  his 
handkerchief  over  his  eyes.  _ 

The  order  of  execution  was  read  loudly  and  impressively 
by  Adjutant-General  Scammel.  At  its  conclusion.  Colonel 
Scammel  informed  the  prisoner  that  he  might  speak,  if  he 
had  anything  to  say. 

Lifting  the  bandage  from  his  eyes,  and  gazing  around 
once  more,  as  if  that  last  look  of  earth  and  sun  and  sky 


J 


jgO  PEMBERTON ; 

and  human  faces  was  sweet  indeed,  Andr6  said  in  a  proud, 
clear  voice : — 

"  Bear  witness,  gentlemen,  that  I  die  in  the  service  of 
my  country,  as  becomes  a  British  officer  and  a  brave  man." 

The  iiangman  now  drew  near  with  a  i)icce  of  cord  to 
bind  his  arms ;  but,  recoiling  from  his  snaky  touch,  Andr6 
swept  his  hand  aside,  and  drawing  another  handkerchief 
from  his  pocket,  allowed  his  elbo\vs  to  be  loosely  fastened 
behind  his  back.  Then  he  said  in  a  firm  voice — "I  am 
ready  I" 

Almost  at  the  word,  the  wagon  was  rolled  swiftly  away, 
and,  with  a  terrible  jerk  and  shock,  the  noble  soul  of  John 
Andr6  was  severed  from  the  beautiful  frame  with  which 
the  Creator  had  clothed  it. 

And  there  was  a  solemn  stillness  through  all  the  multi- 
tude gathered  around,  broken  only  by  the  sound  of  weep- 
ing. For  all  felt  that  this  was  no  common  man ;  and  that 
he  had  done  nothing  worthy  of  death.  Only  that  it  was 
necessary  that  he  should  die  for  the  good  of  their  country. 


on; 

ed,  Andr6  said  in  a  proud, 

lat  I  die  in  the  service  of 
loiTucrand  a  brave  man." 
r  with  a  piece  of  cord  to 
om  his  snaky  touch,  Andr6 
ving  another  handkerchief 
jo\vs  to  be  loosely  fastened 
id  in  a  firm  voice — "  I  am 

on  was  rolled  swiftly  away, 
ock,  the  noble  soul  of  John 
>eautiful  frame  with  which 

ness  through  all  the  multi- 
jnly  by  the  sound  of  weep- 
no  common  man ;  and  that 
r  death.  Only  that  it  was 
'  the  good  of  their  country. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  381 


PART  IV. 

FIVE   YEARS  AFTER. 

O  thoii  that  neiulcst  out  the  men, 

Ti)  rule  by  land  and  sea, 
Strong  mother  of  a  Lion  line, 
Be  proud  of  those  stronjj  sons  of  thine, 

Who  wrench'd  their  rights  from  ihec—TtnMysaH. 

Nearly  five  years  had  passed  since  the  death  of  Major 
Andrt".  The  war  was  over.  The  "Triumph  "—appro- 
priate name— had  arrived  at  Philadelphia,  bringing  letters 
from  Lafayette  to  the  President  of  Congress',  informing  him 
that  a  Treaty  of  Peace  had  been  signed  at  Paris.  And  on 
the  19th  of  April,  1783— precisely  eight  years  after  the 
opening  of  the  conflict  at  Lexington— Washington  pro- 
claimed the  Cessation  of  Hostilities  in  the  General  Orders 
to  his  faithful  Army. 

The  war  therefore  had  been  over  for  more  than  two 
years.  In  fact  it  had  really  been  over  since  the  surrender 
of  Cornwallis  in  the  Autumn  of  1781.  That,  and  Greene's 
successes  in  the  Carolinas,  had  turned  the  scales  against 
the  British.  As  we  have  said  before,  both  parties  were 
tired  out,  and  a  great  reverse  to  either  was  enough  to  settle 
the  contest  against  the  loser. 

Helen  Graham  did  not  die— though  she  lay  at  the  point 
of  death  for  many  weeks,  and  did  not  recover  sufficiently 
to  return  to  Philadelphia,  until  the  ensuing  Spring. 

We  have  said  that  she  did  not  die,  but  we  feel  like 
amending  the  expression.  The  beautiful,  serene  lady, 
with  shining  masses  of  silvery  hair,  who  came  back  to 
Philadelphia,  could  hardly  be  called  the  Helen  Graham 
that  is  known  to  our  readers.  That  was  an  ardent,  im- 
pulsive, proud,  passionate,  and  wayward  girl— this  was  a 
quiet,  composed,  and  unexcitable,  though  also,  in  her 


fi.* 


»gj  PKMBERTON ; 

different  way.  lovely  woman.  There  Becmcd  to  be  a  mys- 
tery in  the  change,  which  piudcd  all  her  fricnds-hcr  sister 
more  than  all.  It  wxs  a.  if  she  had  been  transforuKcl- 
or  else  that  ;  he  had  lost  some  portion  of  her  original  es- 
sence and  spirit,  in  those  cruel  days  of  pain,  and  that  the 
remaining  and  quieter  elements  of  her  character  had  crys- 
tallized into  a  new  form,  which  shone  with  a  milder  radi- 

*"At'  the  declaration  of  peace.  Pemberton  and  Isabella 
had  been  married,  with  the  full  approbation  of  Colone 
Musgrave,  who  after  attending  the  wedding,  had  sailed 
with  hi3  regiment  for  England.     They  were  still  living 
with  Mrs.  Pemberton  as  before,  and  Helen,  as  a  matter  of 

course,  resided  with  them.  

Captain  Morris,  upon  the  cessation  of  hostilities,  had 
entered  into  a  partnership  with  Pemberton.  for  the  carry- 
ing  on  of  a  mercantile  business  in  Philadelphia.     He  was 
the  active  business  man  of  the  firm  ;  Pemberton  furmsh.ng 
the  greater  part  of  the  capital,  but  devoting  a  good  deal  of 
his  time  to  his  favorite  studies.     The  times  were  happily 
"  slower  ••  then  than  now,  and  it  did  not  need  that  a  man 
should  give  himself  entirely  up  to  his  business-body,  soul 
and  spirit-or  else  run  a  great  risk  of  becoming  a  bank- 
rupt     That  fierceness  of  competition,  which  spares  neither 
the  man  himself,  nor  his  dearest  friends-which  immolates 
whatever  stands  in  its  way,  unhesitatingly  and  unscrupu- 
lously, on  the  shrine  of  Mammon,  and  then  takes  its  seat 
on  Sunday,  in  the  high  places  of  the  Church,  and  even 
perhaps."  runs"  a  church  of  its  own-had  not  yet  become 
one  of  the  distinguishing  features  of  our  American  city 
life      Men  were  then  industrious  in  their  business,  and 
being  also  moderate  in  their  desires,  and  economical  in 
their  expenditures,  had  time  to  think  of  something  else 
than  the  mere  adding  of  dollar  to  dollar. 


ERTON  } 

I.  There  becmed  to  be  a  inys- 
izzled  ;iU  her  friends— her  sister 
•  she  had  been  transformed— 
,me  i)ortion  of  her  original  es- 
ruel  days  of  pain,  and  that  the 
icnts  of  her  character  had  crys- 
■hich  shone  with  a  milder  radi- 

pcacc,  Pemberton  and  Isabella 
e  full  approbation  of  Colonel 
iding  the  wedding,  had  sailed 
gland.  They  were  still  living 
;fore,  and  Helen,  as  a  matter  of 

he  cessation  of  hostilities,  had 
with  Pemberton,  for  the  carry- 
iness  in  Philadelphia.     He  was 
the  Arm  ;  Pemberton  furnishing 
ital,  but  devoting  a  good  deal  of 
idies.     The  times  were  happily 
,  and  it  did  not  need  that  a  man 
ly  up  to  his  business— body,  soul 
great  risk  of  becoming  a  bank- 
;ompetition,  which  spares  neither 
learest  friends— which  immolates 
ly,  unhesitatingly  and  unscrupu- 
^ammon,  and  then  takes  its  seat 
places  of  the  Church,  and  even 
I  of  its  own — had  not  yet  become 
r  features  of  our  American  city 
dustrious  in  their  business,  and 
;heir  desires,  and  economical  in 
;ime  to  think  of  something  else 
dollar  to  dollar. 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AOO. 


383 


Captain  Morris  wxs  a  freciuent,  a  very  freciuent  visitor  ^ 
of  the  I'embcrtons.     The  hospitable  mansion  of  his  friend, 
with  its  pieiisant  grounds,  extending  to  tiie  line  of  Dock 
creek,  was  a  pleasant  place  for  any  one  to  visit.     And 
knowing  the  whole  family  so  well,  and  moreover  being  a 
cousin,  the  gallant  captain  always  felt  perfectly  at  home. 
He  was  not  there  perhaps  every  evening— but  his  visits 
were  certainly  oftener  than  every  other  evening  ;  ami  he 
walked  in  as  naturally,  and  hung  ui)  his  hat,  without  a.sk- 
ing  for  any  one  in  particular,  as  we  all  probably  have  en- 
joyed doing  at  some  happy  period  of  our  l|vcs,  when  for- 
tune  for  a  time  has  smiled  propitiously  upon  us,  and  placed 
us  in  relation  to  some  delightful  family  on  a  looting  of  the 
most  intimate  friendship. 

Helen  always  received  him  with  the  greatest  cordiality 
on  such  occasions— but  in  her  serene  and  composed  way^ 
and  without  the  least  embarrassment.     If  the  outside  world 
said,  and  Arthur  and  Isabella  thought,  that  Philip  was  still 
as  enamoured  as  ever,  Helen  never  seemeil  to  know  or 
care.     She  treated  him  with  the  kindness  and  familiarity 
which  she  would  have  shown  to  a  brother  ;  and  either  re- 
membering and  respecting  hir  sad  past,  or  else  calmed 
and  quieted  by  her  sisterly  manner,  Morris  never  breathed 
a  word— scarcely  gave  a  look— which  would  convey  the 
impression  that  he  felt  still  the  old,  determined  passion. 
Other  suitors,  and  avowed  ones,  however,  Helen  had 
had,  and  some  that  would  persist  in  their  suit,  notwith- 
standing the  intimations  of  her  manner,  until  they  received 
in  words  the  fatal  negative.      One  of  them,  a  Colonel 
Avery,  only  a  few  days  before  the  time  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  had  opened  his  heart  to  Morris,  as  to  a  friend  of 
both  parties,  and  asked  him  whether  he  thought  it  would 
be  safe  to  venture  a  proposal.     Morris  felt  the  awkward- 
ness of  his  own  position,  but  replied : 


^84  PEMBERTON} 

"  'Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,'  you  know,  Colonel. 
'  I  must  confess  I  think  your  chance  is  a  doubtful  one  j  but 
you  cannot  be  more  than  refused— and  that  in  the  sweetest 
and  most  ladylike  manner." 

What  the  issue  had  been,  or  whether  the  Colonel  had 
really  put  the  matter  to  the  test,  Morris  did  not  know- 
but  during  the  whole  of  the  next  week,  he  never  met  the 
Colonel  at  the  Peniberton  mansion. 

This  was  June.  And  on  a  beautiful  sunny  afternoon, 
the  next  Sunday  but  one  after  the  counsel  given  to  the 
Colonel,  Helen  and  himself  had  strolled  out  into  the 
grounds,  and  taken  a  seat  on  a  shaded  bench  near  the 
outer  line  of  the  garden.  Ah,  for  the  ravages  of  time  ! 
Where  that  bench  stood,  is  now  neither  garden,  nor  lofty 
buttonwoods,  nor  visible  creek.  There  the  money-changer, 
high-priest  of  Mammon,  sits  and  arranges  his  subtle  plans ; 
and  all  around,  the  "bulls"  and  "bears" -more  savage 
than  those  of  the  fields  and  the  wilderness— toss  and  teai 

each  other. 

At  a  pause  of  the  conversation,  Morris  looked  up  anc 
said,  "  I  have  not  seen  Colonel  Avery  here  lately." 

"No,"  replied  Helen,  while  a  slight  glow  came  intc 
her  usually  clear,  white  cheeks,  "I  believe  he  has  startec 
on  a  trip  Northward." 

"  He  asked  my  advice  about  a  week  ago,  upon  a  certan 
matter,  and  I  told  him  that  '  Faint  heart  never  won  fai 
lady,'  "  continued  Morris,  with  a  smile. 

The  glow  deepened  a  little  upon  Helen's  face.  "  Yo 
did  wrong,  my  friend.  You  ought  to  have  known  tha 
my  days  of  love  were  over." 

''  I  suppose  I  ought,"  rejoined  Morris,  a  little  bitterly 
"  but,  you  see,  it  is  a  hard  lesson  for  me  to  learn." 

Helen  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  his  face.  "The  gii 
perished  that  you  loved,  Philip;  and  it  was  well,  for  sh 


PEMBERTON  } 

•won  fair  lady/  you  know,  Colonel, 
your  chance  is  a  doubtful  one ;  but 
an  refused — and  that  in  the  sweetest 
iner." 

been,  or  whether  the  Colonel  had 
to  the  test,  Morris  did  not  know — 
of  the  next  week,  he  never  met  the 
•ton  mansion. 

id  on  a  beautiful  sunny  afternoon, 
one  after  the  counsel  given  to  the 
himself  had  strolled  out  into  the 
I  seat  on  a  shaded  bench  near  the 
den.  Ah,  for  the  ravages  of  time  ! 
xl,  is  now  neither  garden,  nor  lofty 
)le  creek.  There  the  money-changer, 
)n,  sits  and  arranges  his  subtle  plans ; 
'bulls"  and  "bears"— more  savage 
Is  and  the  v/ilderness — toss  and  tear 

conversation,  Morris  looked  up  and 
n  Colonel  Avery  here  lately." 
^len,  while  a  slight  glow  came  into 
te  cheeks,  "  I  believe  he  has  started 
II 

'ice  about  a  week  ago,  upon  a  certain 
im  that  *  Faint  heart  never  won  fair 
orris,  with  a  smile, 
i  a  little  upon  Helen's  face.     "You 
i.     You  ought  to  have  known  that 

over." 

t,"  rejoined  Morris,  a  little  bitterly; 
L  hard  lesson  for  me  to  learn." 

eyes  full  upon  his  face.     "The  girl 
'ed,  Philip ;  and  it  was  well,  for  she 


OR,    ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


385 


could  never  have  returned  your  love."     She  spoke  in  the 
kindest  and  gentlest  of  voices. 

"  The  girl  that  I  loved  Oid  not  perish  ;  and  the  woman 
I  love  still  lives,  as  beautiful  and  precious  to  me,  this  day, 
as  ever!"  exclaimed  Morris  passionately,  but  rather  avoid- 
ing the  mild  blue  eyes  bent  serenely  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  Philip,  my  poor  boy !"  she  said,  with  more  emo- 
tion than  she  had  hitherto  shown,    "such  warm  love  as 
yours  deserves  true  love  in  return.     Philip,  I  am  not  capa- 
ble of  loving.     All  that  was  so  fervent  and  passionate  in 
my  nature,  went  out  from  me  that  awful  day.     I  am  a 
marvel  now  to  myself.     I  picked  up  an  old  letter  not  long 
since— one  written,  but  not  sent,  for  want  of  a  messenger— 
and  read  it  all  over.     It  sounded  so  strangely  to  me !     I 
said  to  myself— can  I  be  the  Helen  Graham  whose  name 
is  signed  to  those  burning  words?     I  do  not  think  I  could 
write  such  a  letter  now— to  any  one,  not  even  to  him, 
should  he  come  back  again  to  life.     No,  Philip,  Helen 
Graham— all  that  was  glorious  and  precious  about  her— is 
dead  ?     This  is  the  mere  case  which  held  the  finer  spirit." 
"  I  know  you  are  greatly  changed,  Helen.     How  could 
it  be  otherwise?"  replied  Morris,  in  tones  that  quivered 
with  the  excess  of  his  emotion,  now  breaking  forth  anew 
after  those  years  of  constant  repression.     "But  you  are 
still  to  me  the  Helen  Graham  to  whom  I  declared  my  boy- 
ish passion  at  the  Mischianza.     Or,  if  not  the  same  Helen, 
an  even  nobler  and  more  seraphic  one.  It  is  you,  as  you  are, 
Helen ,  whom  I  love,  and  I  shall  never  love  any  other  woman. 

"  Poor,  foolish  boy !"  rejoined  Helen,  as  she  pityingly 
smoothed  with  her  white  hand  the  hair  over  his  forehead, 
apparently  unconscious  how  he  thrilled  beneath  her  cool, 
calm  touch.  "And  would  you,  Philip,  marry  a  woman 
who  says  she  does  not  love  you— one  who,  as  she  is  now, 
could  not  love  any  one?" 
33 


386 


PEMBERTON  }' 


I  love 
I  have 


"  I  would  marry  you,  Helen— this  moment, 
you,  and,  as  you  know,  always  have  loved  you. 
love  enough  for  both,  Helen." 

"If  I  thought  it  would  be  right-and  that  it  would  be 
acting  fairly  toward  you,-  and  Helen  paused.  She  was 
evidently  considering  the  matter.  There  was  no  embar- 
rassment in  her  voice,  and  her  calm,  affectionate  eyes  did 
not  avoid  the  ardent  glances  of  the  passionate  soul  which 
looked  out  of  the  eyes  of  her  companion. 

"Oh,  Helen,  my  only  love,  say  yes,  and  make  me 
happy!"  whispered  Morris,  in  the  delirium  of  his  unex- 
pected bliss.  "  I  know  you  love  me  more  than  any  other 
man  in  this  wide  world.     If  not,  why  have  you  refused 

those  others?"  . 

"  Of  course,  Thilip,  I  should  not  think  for  a  moment  of 
marrying  any  living  man  but  you,"  replied  Helen,  „,  a 
composed  but  affectionate  tone.  "I  always  did  like  you 
ereatly,  Philip.  And  if  I  marry  you,  it  will  be  because  I 
like  you,  and  value  your  happiness  so  much-and  because 
you  are  so  foolish  as  to  think  so  highly  of  me.  But,  if  1 
do  marry  you,  Philip,  and  you  get  tired  of  me,  and  think 
you  have  made  a  great  mistake.  I  shall  net  blame  you  in 
the  least,  my  friend." 

"  If  I  do,  just  take  one  of  my  pistols  and  blow  my  silly 
brains  out,"  exclaimed  Morris,  in  high  rapture.  "Oh, 
Helen,  my  pearl  of  great  price,  you  cannot  imagine  how 
happy  you  have  made  me  !"  And  Morris,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  put  his  arm  around  the  woman  he  had 
always  loved  so  madly,  and  kissed  her  ripe  red  lips. 

A  rather  deeper  tint  came  upon  Helen's  cheeks,  but 

she  not  only  allowed,  but  returned  the  kiss.  Then  she  said : 

"  One  thing  I  can  promise  you,  Philip ;  that  I  will  be 

a  faithful  and  affectionate  wife  to  you-<:areful  of  you  and 


:rton  ; 

elen— this  moment.     I  love 
ys  have  loved  you.     I  have 

right— and  that  it  would  be 
md  Helen  paused.  She  was 
atter.  There  was  no  embar- 
ler  calm,  affectionate  eyes  did 
i  of  the  passionate  soul  which 
r  companion, 
love,  say  yes,  and   make  me 

in  the  delirium  of  his  unex- 
1  love  me  more  than  any  other 
If  not,  why  have  you  refused 

3uld  not  think  for  a  moment  of 
ut  you,"  replied  Helen,  in  a 
one.  "I  always  did  like  you 
narry  you,  it  will  be  because  I 
ippiness  so  much — and  because 
ik  so  highly  of  me.  But,  if  I 
you  get  tired  of  me,  and  think 
take,  I  shall  net  blame  you  in 

3f  my  pistols  and  blow  my  silly 
orris,  in  high  rapture.  "Oh, 
irice,  you  cannot  imagine  how 
!"  And  Morris,  for  the  first 
rm  around  the  woman  he  had 
d  kissed  her  ripe  red  lips, 
ame  upon  Helen's  cheeks,  but 
eturned  the  kiss.  Then  she  said : 
lise  you,  Philip ;  that  I  will  be 
wife  to  you — careful  of  you  and 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


387 


your  interests  in  all  things.  If  I  cannot  love  you,  as  you 
deserve  to  be  loved,  I  can  at  least  honor  and  obey  as  well 
and  I  think  a  little  better,  than  almost  any  other  woman 
you  would  be  apt  to  meet."  Helen  said  this  in  a  low, 
sweet,  earnest  tone  that  was  enchanting  to  Morris,  what- 
ever it  might  have  been  to  a  more  exacting  lover. 

"  I  know  you  will  make  a  perfect  wife— for  you  are  a 
perfect  woman!"  exclaimed  he,  devotedly,  looking  upon 
her  with  rapture,  as  if  from  the  heights  of  Paradise.  "  I 
always  said  I  intended  to  marry  you,  Helen,  from  the  first 
day  I  saw  you,  when  you  saved  my  life  at  Germantown— 
you,  and  no  one  else— and  in  spite  of  all  obstacles— and 
now,  you  see,  my  words  are  coming  true." 

Helen  smiled  sweetly,  and  rising  they  took  their  way 
back  to  the  house.  And  Ihere  was  such  a  triumphant  ex- 
pression on  Philip's  face  when  they  entered  the  parlor, 
and  such  a  soft,  sweet  look  in  Helen's  eyes,  that  Isabella 
sliot  a  meaning  glance  over  to  her  husband,  and  then  rose 
and  kissed  her  sister  on  both  cheeks.  ^^ 

"  Philip  has  been  asking  me  to  do  a  very  foolish  thmg, 
she  said,  in  answer,  with  a  smile. 

"lam  glad  that  you  consented,  Helen,"  replied  Isa- 
bella "  There  is  no  other  man  in  the  world  I  would  like 
to  give  you  to— and  Philip  could  not  be  happy  with  any 
other  woman.     He  will  wear  you  like  a  wondrous  pearl, 

ma  belle  Helcney 

And  so  Helen  and  Philip,  in  the  course  of  the  ensumg 
Autumn,  were  married.  At  Helen's  request  it  was  a  very 
quiet  wedding,  and  Morris,  man  like,  cared  but  little,  now 
he  had  secured  the  bride  he  wished,  whether  the  marriage 
knot  was  tied  in  the  presence  of  ten  or  of  ten  thousand  be- 
holders Helen  was  dressed  beautifully  but  not  showily— 
and  she  smilingly  said  when  they  came  to  arrange  her 
hair,  that  it  was  already  powdered. 


^::' 


388 


PEMBERT ON  ; 


But  never  had  a  more  beautiful  bride  given  away  her 
hand  in  marriage,  even  in  her  own  city  of  fair  women. 
And  the  shining  coils  of  her  silvery  hair  were  not  the 
smallest  of  her  charms — they  seemed  so  in  harmony  with 
the  fair  white  cheeks,  and  the  serene  brow,  while  they 
added  depth  and  lustre  to  the  calm  violet  eyes. 

As  for  Morris,  he  looked  the  very  image  of  what  a  bride- 
groom should  be — full  of  life  and  ardor,  and  all  glowing 
with  the  fervor  of  manhood's  love.  This  was  the  day  of 
days  for  him — and  he  felt  every  inch  of  him  a  king ;  for 
was  he  not  to  wed  his  Queen  ? 

And  these  two,  as  also  Pemberton  and  Isabella,  lived 
thenceforth  a  happy  life — till  death  did  them  part — in  our 
own  goodly  city  of  Philadelphia.  And  they  had  sons  and 
daughters,  to  rise  up  and  call  them  blessed.  And  Morris 
never  regretted  that  he  had  married  where  he  was  not 
deeply  loved — for,  as  he  had  said,  he  had  love  enough  for 
both.  And  in  the  serene  and  beautiful  woman  who  was  a 
perpetual  fountain  of  sweetness  to  all  around  her,  he  recog- 
nized what  was  to  him  the  very  highest  ideal  of  a  perfect 
womanhood. 

Pemberton  also  was  fully  satisfied — for  he  too  had  found 
his  ideal  woman.  A  nobler  woman  than  Isabella  Pember- 
ton never  drew  the  breath  of  life.  As  compared  with  her 
sister,  she  was  now  the  more  impassioned  of  the  two.  And 
such  was  necessary  to  satisfy  the  heart  of  Pemberton,  who, 
in  one  sense,  had  not  enough  love  for  both.  He  pleased 
Isabella  the  better  because  he  had  not.  She  was  a  glorious 
creature  j  and  Pemberton,  as  he  was,  with  his  deficiencies 
as  well  as  his  superiorities,  filled  her  eye.  She  would  not 
have  altered  him,  nor  he  her,  one  jot  or  tittle.  Even 
when  their  years  increased,  and  Time  began  to  make  his 
changes,  they  would  not  have  had  it  otherwise.  Such  as 
theirs  are  the  marriages  which  are  made  in  Heaven ! 


J 


IT  ON  ; 

lutiful  bride  given  away  her 
ler  own  city  of  fair  women. 
:r  silvery  hair  were  not  the 

seemed  so  in  harmony  with 
the  serene  brow,  while  they 
:  calm  violet  eyes. 
,e  very  image  of  what  a  bride- 

and  ardor,  and  all  glowing 
s  love.  This  was  the  day  of 
'ery  inch  of  him  a  king ;  for 
? 

:mberton  and  Isabella,  lived 
death  did  them  part — in  our 
tiia.     And  they  had  sons  and 

them  blessed.  And  Morris 
I  married  where  he  was  not 
said,  he  had  love  enough  for 
i  beautiful  woman  who  was  a 
is  to  all  around  her,  he  recog- 
:ry  highest  ideal  of  a  perfect 

tisfied — for  he  too  had  found 
I'oman  than  Isabella  Pember- 
life.  As  compared  with  her 
mpassioned  of  the  two.  And 
he  heart  of  Pemberton,  who, 

love  for  both.  He  pleased 
had  not.     She  was  a  glorious 

he  was,  with  his  deficiencies 
led  her  eye.  She  would  not 
er,  one  jot  or  tittle.  Even 
md  Time  began  to  make  his 
e  had  it  otherwise.  Such  as 
h  are  made  in  Heaven  1 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  389 

CONCLUSION. 

It  only  remains  to  add  a  few  lines  of  information  and 
elucidation,  and  then  we  shall  conclude  this  little  history. 
The  bibyl's  prediction  as  to  Westminster  Abbey  came 
true      When  the  sad  news  of  Major  Andre's  death  reached 
England,  the  greatest  sorrow  and  sympathy  were  mani- 
fested     The  latter  found  expression  in  many  ways.     1  he 
Kins  instantly  ordered  a  thousand  guineas  from  the  privy 
Durse  to  be  given  to  Andre's  mother,  and  an  annual  pen- 
sion of  jTxoo  to  be  settled  on  her  for  life,  and  afterwards 
to  be  paTd  to  her  children.     And  a  Baronetcy  was  con- 
ferred upon  his  brother.  Captain  William  Lewis  Andr6,  of 
the  26th  Regiment,  and  upon  his  heirs  male  forever.       ^ 
In  addition  to  the  above  substantial  proofs  of  a  nation  s 
svmpathy,  a  stately  cenotaph  was  erected,  and  now  stands 
in  Westminster  Abbey.     It  is  of  statuary  marble  and  on 
a  panel  is  to  be  read  the  following  inscription  :      Sacred 
to  the  memory  of  Major  John  Andre,  who.  raised  by  his 
merits,  at  an  early  period  of  his  life,  to  the  rank  of  Ad- 
jutant-General of  the  British  Forces  in  America,  and  em- 
ployed in  an  important  but  hazardous  enterprise,  fell  a 
sacrifice  to  his  zeal  for  his  King  and  Country  on  the  2d 
of  October,  1780.  aged  twenty-nine,  universally  beloved 
and  esteemed  by  the  army  in  which  he  served,  and  la- 
mented even  by  his  foes.     His  gracious  Sovereign,  King 
George  III.,  has  caused  this  monument  to  be  erected. 

Forty-one  years  afterwards,  the  remains  of  John  Andr6, 
including  a  few  locks  of  the  once  beautiful  hair,  were  dis- 
interred by  the  order  of  the  Duke  of  York,  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  Mr.  Buchanan,  the  British  consul,  from  the  lonely 
grave  at  Tappan,  and  placed  in  a  costly  sarcophagus,  hung 
with  black  and  crimson,  for  removal  to  England.  Amid 
the  deep  sympathy  of  his  former  foes,  all  that  remained  of 
the  once  glorious  face  and  form  was  gathered  tenderly  to- 

33* 


390 


PEMBERTON  J 


gether,  and  the  faces  of  men  grew  sad,  as  they  thought  over 
the  old  story,  and  fair  women  sent  garlands  to  decorate  the 
bier.  And  thus,  with  all  honor,  and  due  solemnity,  the 
bones  of  one  of  England's  most  accomplished  and  chivalric 
sons  were  borne  home,  and  deposited  near  his  monument, 
in  that  shrine  sacred  to  the  memory  of  her  departed  great- 
ness and  glory. 

But  though  the  prediction  thus  came  true,  apparently 
in  all  its  features,  as  to  Andr6,  it  evidently  failed,  so  far  as 
it  went — at  least  in  details — as  to  Helen,  It  is  not  our 
part  to  account  for  this,  but  only  to  state  the  fact. 

As  to  Madame  Dumont  herself,  she  left  America  soon 
after  the  war,  and  sailed  for  Europe,  In  Paris  she  found 
a  wider  field  for  her  art,  and  a  more  congenial  atmosphere. 
There,  under  another  name,  she  startled  thousands,  and 
even  titled  personages  and  crowned  heads,  with  the  mar- 
vellous magnetism  of  her  presence,  and  the  wonderful  ac- 
curacy of  many  of  her  predictions. 

It  may  be  that  some  of  our  readers  feel  an  interest  in 
knowing  what  became  of  Captain  Fanny,  The  reckless 
Captain,  under  the  name  and  in  the  masculine  dress  of 
Captain  Francis  Malone,  took  no  small  share  of  glory  to 
himself  for  the  part  which  he— and  his  twin-sister  Fanny, 
he  said — had  taken  in  obtaining  information  for  the 
American  commanders  during  the  war,  Fanny,  he  alleged, 
had  died  about  the  conclusion  of  hostilities.  Of  course, 
there  really  had  been  no  such  twin-sister;  but  it  answered 
the  Captain's  purposes  to  invent  a  personage  of  this  char- 
acter, who  could  bear  some  suspicions  and  inquiries  that 
might  perhaps  be  a  little  troublesome  to  himself, 

Helen  was  deceived  entirely,  and  for  all  her  life,  by  this 
adroit  imposture.  Captain  Fanny  and  Captain  Francis 
were,  to  her  mind,  two  persons ;  and  she  was  v.-ell  pleased, 
as  the  Captain  intended  she  should  be,  in  thinking  this. 


RTON  J 

;rew  sad,  as  they  thought  over 
sent  garlands  to  decorate  the 
»nor,  and  due  solemnity,  the 
>st  accomplished  and  chivalric 
leposited  near  his  monument, 
aemory  of  her  departed  great- 

i  thus  came  true,  apparently 
6,  it  evidently  failed,  so  far  as 
as  to  Helen,  It  is  not  our 
only  to  state  the  fact, 
erself,  she  left  America  soon 
Europe.  In  Paris  she  found 
a  more  congenial  atmosphere. 
,  she  startled  thousands,  and 
rowned  heads,  with  the  mar- 
Esence,  and  the  wonderful  ac- 
ctions. 

ir  readers  feel  an  interest  in 
;aptain  Fanny.  The  reckless 
nd  in  the  masculine  dress  of 
ak  no  small  share  of  glory  to 
e — and  his  twin-sister  Fanny, 
)taining  information  for  the 
ig  the  war.  Fanny,  he  alleged, 
on  of  hostilities.  Of  course, 
;h  twin-sister ;  but  it  answered 
ivent  a  personage  of  this  char- 
i  suspicions  and  inquiries  that 
•ublesome  to  himself, 
ely,  and  for  all  her  life,  by  this 
Fanny  and  Captain  Francis 
ions ;  and  she  was  well  pleased, 
e  should  be,  in  thinking  this. 


OR,   ONE  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.  S9«    " 

As  the  years  went  on,  the  Captain  became  a  famous 
politician-caring  no  more,  however,  for  the  "great  pr.n- 
ciDles"  which  divided  parties,  than  he  had  formerly  cared 
for   those  which   divided   rebel   and   tory.     In  truth    it 
seemed  to  him  the  very  height  of  the  ridiculous,  that  the 
same  men  who  had  once  been  banded  together  as  rebels, 
should  afterwards  be  nearly  as  bitter  against  each  other  as 
they  had  been  against  the  common  foe.     This  was  a  stand- 
ing joke  with  the  Captain,  whenever  it  was  safe  to  utter 
itfand  confirmed  him  in  his  opinion  of  the  "tter  folly  of 
having  any  principles  at  all,  save  those  which  added  to 
the  holder's  comforts.     The  Captain  therefore  was  first  an 
ardent  Federalist,  and  afterwards  an  equally  ardent  Anti- 
Federalist-never  getting  on  the  losing  side,  except  when 
he  made  a  mistake;  and  having  a  most  wonderful  sagacity, 
the  result  of  his  perfect  coolness,  as  to  the  current  of  the 
popular  opinion.     So  the  Captain,  on  the  strength  of  his 
many  patriotic  services  during  the  war,  and  his  apparent 
devotion  to  the  winning  side,  became  first  a  Justice  of  the 
Peace,  then  a  member  of  the  City  Councils,  and  finally  a 
Representative  in  the  State  Legislature.     That  was  about 
as  high  as  such  a  man  could  get  in  those  aristocratic  times; 
but  if  he  had  lived  now-a-days,  he  doubtless  would  have 
gone  on  until  he  became  a  member  of  Congress,  a  Gover- 
nor, and  possibly  a  Senator  of  the  United  States 

A  few  words  more-relative  to  Benedict  Arnold,  and  we 
must  conclude.  Arnold  did  not  obtain  the  high  rewards 
for  which  he  had  bargained,  and  doubtless  would  have  re- 
ceived in  case  of  his  success.  He  was  made  however  a 
Brigadier  General  in  the  British  service,  and  received  be- 
sides the  sum  of  seven  thousand  pounds. 

Small  pay  this,  however,  for  the  curses  heaped  upon 
him  by  his  indignant  countrymen.  His  name  became  a 
word  of  loathing  to  them,     Probably  ng  mm  was  ey«r 


392 


PEMBERTON ; 


1^1 
& 


1, 


more  bitterly  and  generally  hated  by  the  country  which 
gave  him  birth.  Secret  plans  were  set  on  foot  to  entrap 
him.  And  orders  were  given,  in  case  of  his  capture,  to 
hang  him  at  once,  and  without  a  trial ;  orders  which  would 
have  been  rigorously  and  eagerly  followed. 

The  knowledge  of  these  things,  or  the  failure  of  his  great 
schemes,  acting  on  the  natural  sternness  and  severity  of 
his  character,  made  him  fierce  and  cruel.  He  headed 
predatory  expeditions  against  his  old  friends,  and  ravaged 
the  coast  even  of  his  native  State  witii  fire  and  sword. 
Thousands  would  have  delighted  to  shoot  him,  and  yet, 
while  exposing  himself  on  these  adventures,  he  seemed  to 
bear  a  charmed  life.  Neither  secret  wile  nor  open  war- 
fare touched  him. 

He  went  to  England,  and  was  received  with  honor  by 
the  King,  as  a  repentant  subject,  who  had  done  the  State 
some  service,  and  would  have  done  it  more.  But  the 
contempt  which  follows  Treason — especially  when  it  is 
allied  with  Failure— attended  him,  more  or  less,  shouting 
or  whispering  its  detestation,  wherever  his  footsteps  trod. 
Perhaps  he  derived  some  consolation  amid  the  '"Herness 
which  thus  always  accompanied  him,  from  the  steadfast 
affection  of  his  young  and  lovely  wife,  who  seems  to  have 
been  kept  in  entire  ignorance  of  his  projected  treason, 
but  who  joined  him  afterwards  in  New  York,  and  while 
he  lived,  continued  faithful  to  him  and  to  his  fortunes. 

Tradition  tells — we  know  not  how  truly — a  story 
like  this.  When  the  last  days  of  Arnold  approached,  the 
enfeebled  but  still  stern  old  man  seemed  to  grow  restless 
and  unquiet;  as  if  he  missed  something  that  was  dear  to 
his  heart.  At  length,  on  the  last  day  of  his  eventful  and 
stormy  life,  when  the  final  hour  seemed  to  be  drawing  near, 
he  bade  them  bring  him  the  old  and  faded  blue-and-buff 
uniform  which  he  had  worn  when  a  Major  General  in  the 


ton; 

lated  by  the  country  which 
5  were  set  on  foot  to  entrap 
,  in  case  of  his  capture,  to 

a  trial ;  orders  which  would 
;rly  followed. 

igs,  or  the  failure  of  his  great 
d  sternness  and  severity  of 
ce  and  cruel.  He  headed 
his  old  friends,  and  ravaged 

State  with  fire  and  sword, 
ited  to  shoot  him,  and  yet, 
;se  adventures,  he  seemed  to 
r  secret  wile  nor  open  war- 

vas  received  with  honor  by 
ict,  who  had  done  the  State 
le.  done  it  more.  But  the 
ison — especially  when  it  is 
him,  more  or  less,  shouting 
wherever  his  footsteps  trod, 
solation  amid  the  '"Herness 
ed  him,  from  the  steadfast 
/ely  wife,  who  seems  to  have 
ce  of  his  projected  treason, 
ds  in  New  York,  and  while 
to  him  and  to  his  fortunes. 
T  not  how  truly — a  story 
s  of  Arnold  approached,  the 
Tian  seemed  to  grow  restless 
i  something  that  was  dear  to 
last  day  of  his  eventful  and 
r  seemed  to  be  drawing  near, 
old  and  faded  blue-and-buff 
vhen  a  Major  General  in  the 


OR,   ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 


39J 


Continental  service.     Smiling  grimly  when  he  saw  it,  he 
dragged  himself  from  his  bed,  and  mustered  up  strength 
sufficient  to  array  his  wasted  frame  in  the  old,  rejected 
garb.     There  he  was  again,  a  Major  General  of  his  coun- 
try, with  the  blade  which  he  had  so  effectively  wielded  in 
her  cause  on  so  many  hard-fought  fields,  girded  once  more 
by  his  side.     Drawing  himself  up  for  a  moment  to  his  full 
height,  the  dying  General  forgot  his  treason,  and  waving 
his  sword  in  his  hand,  as  he  so  often  had  waved  it  in  the 
heat  of  battle,  he  shouted,  "  On,  my  brave  fellows  /"  and 
fell  at  full  length,  dead,  on  the  couch  before  him.     If  this 
tradition  be  true,  it  may  mingle  with  the  memories  of  his 
early  and  heroic  services,  and   lead  a  forgiving  country 
to  drop  a  tear  even  over  the  follies  and  the  crime  of  Bene- 
dict Arnold. 


MONUMENl   TO  MAJOR  ANDRE  IN  WEMMINSTER  ABBBT. 


W 


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^3^ 


I 


"i  i^^^*i>S^W' 


fg;'uaew5t*'i-JW,j^M».^-^:j:-Jto^fc'fe«gfe^ti^^ 


